


Looking Through a Glass Onion

by YertleTurtle



Series: The Heart of the Onion [2]
Category: Shameless (US), gallavich - Fandom
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Angst, Banter, Best Friends, College, Comedy, Depression, Drug Use, Except They're Too Dumb To Know It, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gray-Area Cheating, High School, Hurt/Comfort, Ian Thinks He's Straight, Ian is a North Sider, Ian is the sweet and kind man we used to love, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mentions of Het Relationships/Sex, Military, Nothing Explicit or Developed, POV Ian Gallagher, PTSD, Pining, Serious Injuries, Slow Burn, Smut, Suicide Attempt, They're Not Together/On A Break - Just Emotionally Entangled, Wrestling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:01:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 26,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27108409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YertleTurtle/pseuds/YertleTurtle
Summary: Ian smirks as he imagines a bright, neon Pride rainbow arcing over Mickey’s head; an irrepressible flashing, queer beacon, despite the tough man act. He may not have known him long, but he’s sure Mickey would knock his teeth out and curb stomp him if he knew what he was thinking, and he smiles at that.Mickey and Ian come from opposite sides of the tracks, but strike up an unexpected and deep friendship. When their lives implode however, it’s tested to the limit – while also revealing that things between them are not quite what they seem.This is a retelling ofDefinitely Something Specialfrom Ian's POV and assumes knowledge of that fic. If you haven't read it, you should do so before starting this. You should also read it in its entirety (rather than both side-by-side), or else you'll get spoilers. As with the first fic, this contains some dark and heavy moments detailed in the tags. The tone is mostly humorous and a lot is new material, though some scenes and dialogue have to be repeated. If the title seems weird it'll make sense in context.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: The Heart of the Onion [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1978726
Comments: 92
Kudos: 114





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Comments (both positive AND negative) are welcomed, so long as they are constructive. I usually only reply if I think I have something I can add, but I love each and every one of them! If you want to talk more extensively, or in private, come find me on Twitter @Yellowvoucher

He knows it’s kind of gay to admit it, but this guy has really nice eyes. Electric blue. Ian’s still going to beat the shit out of him though, and he seems like the better prepared one when the whistle blows. He easily manhandles his body and gets him down onto the mat on his shoulder within seconds. 

_Three points. This is going to be easy- oh._

Ian’s flat on his back with his shoulders pinned and the whistle has just been blown. How the fuck did that happen?! He hopes his other matches last a little longer than a twelve year-old watching porn for the first time.

He follows his conqueror towards the bleachers on the right side of the gym and throws his bag down in disappointment. He keeps his eyes on the guy … Milkovich … if he’s reading the order of play sheet correctly. South Side. He looks it too, short and stocky with a tough looking sneer, even when no-one’s watching. He follows some of his other matches and quickly realizes that he actually got pretty lucky with those three points. He’s really good.

Once everything’s over and he’s back in the locker room, Ian’s really, really craving a cigarette, since he hasn’t had one all afternoon. He gets out of the shower wrapped in his towel and digs his clothes out of his bag, but then groans when he can’t see his pack in the bottom. He checks all the pockets but they’re definitely not there and he realizes that he must have left them at home when he was running out the door, late for the tournament.

_Ugh, it’s gonna be at least another hour._

There’s another bag close by though and he sees the edge of a carton peeking out between some clothes. He thinks he knows who it belongs to too, being battered to pieces. Old blue-eyes had just been entering the showers as he was leaving and, while he feels bad stealing from a guy who probably cant afford to lose them, he’s still pissed at the thrashing he’d given him earlier and he’s a sneaky little shit, so he pulls them out of the bag and throws them into his. He looks inside and is disappointed to see that there’s only two left, but it’s enough to get his fix until he gets home.

This isn’t his high school, but he figures gym side-doors always exit into somewhere sheltered and this being a pretty urban school it’s probably going to be an alley where no teachers are going to be lurking, especially on a Saturday. Sure enough, that’s where he comes out and he leans back against the wall by the door and lights up the first of his ill-gotten gains. He relaxes completely once he’s had a couple of puffs and enjoys the first one immensely, then pulls out the second to have one for the road. He’s just lit it though, when the door slams open beside him and Mr blue-eyes is standing there, looking murderous.

“Can I bum a smoke?” he asks gruffly.

Ian so nearly laughs at the irony.

“Ahh sorry,” he replies, trying to keep a straight face. “This is my last one,” and he flips open ‘his’ cigarette carton to show that he’s not lying.

“Fuck,” the boy scowls.

Ian looks at him, weighing up whether he should torture him more, but he figures he ought to offer an olive branch to his victim and at least let him smoke his own cigarette.

“I mean … I only just lit up. We could share this one?” 

The guy looks at him like he wants to tear him limb from limb, but Ian knows he’s got him beat and the next second his mark snatches it over and takes a long drag, then passes it back.

“It was Milkovich, wasn’t it?”

He only gets a grunt in return.

“What’s your first name?”

“The fuck’s it to you?”

Ian’s surprised, but then amused by this prickly porcupine bristling at such simple questions.

“All right formal. _Milkovich_ it is then,” he says, pronouncing the name in a silly voice.

“You can call me Ian though.”

“How about I call you shut the fuck up?”

“Nah, it’s my cigarette, you owe me a few minutes of small talk.” 

_Hmmm, maybe he’s more of a honey badger than a porcupine; all that swagger. Yeah he’s definitely a honey badger, and[honey badger don’t care](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4r7wHMg5Yjg)._

“You’re good you know. I really thought I had you there, but then _nope,_ you switched it around completely.” 

The guy doesn’t respond though and instead he throws the cigarette down and stubs it out with his foot, without giving Ian a final drag. He doesn’t care though, knowing how much he’s had the last laugh in this situation. Milkovich starts to walk away, but then suddenly stops.

“Mickey.”

“Huh?”

“My name is Mickey.”

 _Good to meet you, Mickey fucking Milkovich_.

* * *

He next sees Mickey a few months later during the quarter-finals of the tournament. He beats him again, of course, but Ian’s pleased he actually went the full two rounds this time. It’s a pretty terrible day for him otherwise though, and he’s easily eliminated. No more Mickey then. That sucks because he was really hoping he’d get to keep seeing him. While he sits in the bleachers though, he starts to formulate a plan.

Mickey’s real fucking slow in the locker room and Ian has to keep doing things to look like he’s busy until he _finally_ goes to the showers and he can rifle through his bag. He transfers Mickey’s pack as quickly as he can and then leaves the room, heading out the side door of the gym to wait again, hoping Mickey’ll assume Ian’s there and he can get another freebie. He hasn’t forgotten his smokes this time and he thinks he’ll get away with it since they’re a different brand too. 

It’s a long wait though, way longer than the time it takes to shower and get dressed. If he keeps on smoking like this he’ll probably be a jittery mess if he has more with Mickey. He hopes he hasn’t just slunk off to a store nearby to buy more, but figures it’s worth a quick look around to see if he’s still inside.

He searches the gym and the locker room and finally wanders through a hall, but there’s no sign of him. He decides to check a few classrooms before he gives up, because maybe he’s drawing dicks on the whiteboards, like a child. He tries three, then busts open the fourth and-

Wow. He did not see that coming. Luckily he didn’t see Mickey coming either.

_Lie lie lie!_

“Whoa! Sorry, my girlfriend and I were kinda looking for a place to do the same thing.” He scratches at the back of his head awkwardly. “I’ll uh, leave you guys to it.”

He beats a hasty retreat but Mickey catches up to him in about five seconds flat and pins him against the lockers.

“You tell anyone about this you’re dead! You do not want to fuck with me. You have no idea!”

Ian’s always had a terrible filter though and is prone to blurting, so it slips out before he can stop himself.

“Well I’m straight, so no, I don’t want to fuck with you Mickey.”

Mickey slams him _hard_ against the locker this time and it really hurts.

“Of course I won’t tell anyone, but come on Mickey it’s 2013 – it’s okay to be gay.”

“Not where I’m from it ain’t.” Mickey snarls. 

He smashes him one more time and walks off, leaving Ian to massage the back of his head. He still wants to talk to him though and when he sees Mickey re-enter the classroom he darts into another one. Then he sees him pass by with his bag and it’s clear he’s heading for the gym and probably out into the alley. He loves it when a plan comes together.

He pulls his own cigarettes out and kicks the door open about twenty seconds after he’s seen Mickey exit.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he smiles.

Mickey growls at him, but Ian just waggles his carton.

“Got a whole pack this time.”

He pulls one out and offers them to Mickey, who’s looking murderous again, but Ian knows he wants it. They both take a few drags and lean back against the wall in relaxation. Surprisingly, Mickey speaks first.

“What happened to your girlfriend?”

“Eh, I think she’s still looking for a place to bang.”

“That’s kind of a dick move isn’t it? Leaving her to wander around?”

Ian sighs. “Yeah, you’re right. Honestly, I should be breaking up with her, but I’m too chicken. I’m going to West Point in the fall and she thinks we’re gonna have a long distance relationship, but I know it’s not gonna happen.”

“West Point eh? Don’t officers get shot first?” Ian smiles but doesn’t respond.

“Anyway, she’s a really sweet girl and deserves someone better, but she’s way more into me than I am to her. I want her to have time to move on before she’s off to college, but I keep putting it off. I need to man up.”

“Yeah.”

They pause for a minute, comfortably, before Ian brings up the inevitable.

“I really won’t tell anyone you know?” he says sincerely. “I’m sorry you have to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Hide. It can’t be easy having to cover up who you are.”

Mickey just grunts, which is apparently how he answers 50% of questions.

“Why do you do it?” Ian asks after another minute.

“Isn’t it fucking obvious Einstein? I like cock.”

Mickey’s such a curious combination of confidence and ease with his sexuality, yet also a paranoid front of violence. It makes Ian sad thinking about the life he must have led until now, to have to juxtapose the two. He smirks though, as he imagines a bright, neon Pride rainbow arcing over Mickey’s head; an irrepressible flashing, queer beacon, despite the tough man act. He may not have known him long, but he’s sure Mickey would knock his teeth out and curb stomp him if he knew what he was thinking, and he smiles at that.

“No, sorry. Why do you wrestle?”

“You’re gonna have to start getting a lot more specific with the questions, Riddler,” Mickey snaps.

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” Ian smiles. “So why is it?”

“Nothing deep. Helps me deal with my anger. ‘Cause I have a whole fucking lot of anger. Problem is it only works if it’s actually a challenge. Hard to find enough people who are up to it.”

“Well you owned me again.”

“You’re getting better. Come back in a year and it might be a fair fight.”

_Awww._

“Won’t you be in college then?”

Mickey tips his head back and laughs.

“Are you fucking shitting me?! College?!”

“Why not? I get that you probably can’t afford it, but you’re really good. Like, really good. I bet you could get a full-ride sports scholarship.”

Mickey snorts.

“Yeah, sure. You clearly haven’t seen my academic record; I haven’t passed a single class. They only keep me around ‘cause I bring in the only silverware we’ve got and I don’t have to go to classes. And then there’s my criminal record. Nah man, I’m fucked for life.”

“So why do _you_ do it?” he asks Ian, after another minute.

“Nothing deep. I wasn’t exactly going to make the football team, but I was good enough to be varsity in this and chicks dig letter jackets, right?”

“As if I’d know.”

“And I guess it helps get my anger out too.”

“Like you have anger issues, Gallagher.”

“No, not like you Mickey,” he smiles sadly.

“Anyway, guess we should get the fuck out of here before people think we’re doing something gay, right?”

_I really like this guy. He’s funny._

“I like you Mickey,” he says finally. “But we probably won’t see each other again, will we? I got eliminated.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Let’s swap numbers, keep in touch.”

 _Please_.

“Jesus Christ, you want to spread a blanket out and look for shooting stars next?”

“Yeah, I’m serious. You never know, you might actually get to like me with time,” he laughs, knocking Mickey’s shoulder with his own. Mickey gives a theatrical sigh, but dictates his digits.

Ian’s not sure he’s ever been so intrigued by someone. He’s just so … vivid. The surface is an apocalyptic wasteland, but through the cracks he can glimpse the life below, a whole teaming metropolis within. Ian realizes then that he watched way too much Japanese shit when he was a kid, because next he sees a fire-breathing Godzilla of anger, crashing around and trying to snuff it all out.

“You’re a fucking onion, aren’t you Mickey Milkovich? Layers and layers under that brittle shell.”

Ian sees another crack open at that and he knows he’s got to him because he doesn’t make any more jokes or grumble at him or anything really, just mumbles a ‘see ya,’ and speeds out of the alley. Ian smiles to himself, really fucking glad that he’s got an in with this guy, and he takes a final drag, then stamps on his smoke, walking slowly enough to allow Mickey to put some distance between them. He’s heading for the L when, from one of the deeper recesses of his mind, lyrics float to the surface. He hums that Beatles song about ‘[looking through a glass onion](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aBQIAWh3YBs)’ all the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was tempted to call this one Honey Badger Don’t Care, but I wanted to keep the onion motif going and liked the symmetry of using the final sentence of the first chapter for the name, as I did with Mickey's POV. I’ve always been shit at titles though.
> 
> By the way, I stole the onion analogy from Noel Fisher, who said something similar about Mickey in an interview a few years back. So thanks Noel. I know he says that Mickey loves raccoons, but he’s clearly a honey badger and you can’t change my mind. Or at least the love child of those two animals.
> 
> This is one of the more repetitive chapters, in terms of it containing a lot of dialogue that you’ve already seen, but I hope experiencing Ian’s thought processes has made it enjoyable. He’s got a pretty fun imagination.


	2. Chapter 2

Ian fucking loves this guy. Not in a gay way, of course, but he realizes in the shower one day that he’s probably never had a friendship this close and definitely not one that’s developed so quickly. They just clicked from the start, even though he knows Mickey would never admit that in a million years and calls him a weirdo every time Ian says something that penetrates that shell. 

He kinda misses him though, despite the messaging. They haven’t seen each other in months, since they last shared a smoke at that competition. He wants to put Mickey into context; see the fabled South Side that he supposedly can’t survive in, even though he can shoot a wide variety of guns with pinpoint accuracy from a distance and has a brown belt in karate. He knows they could meet up in the Loop and Ian can make a bunch of jokes about dates, but really, what’s the point of meeting up to go somewhere? He just wants to shoot the shit with him and if they tried to do something that costs money he knows Mickey’ll be too proud to let him pay and that’s gonna force him to spend funds that he doesn’t have. Plus he knows he’ll _never_ go up to the North Side or to Ian’s house without a gun against his head, so Mickey’s place it is.

He gets a message about coming over out of the blue, after he’d basically given up on ever being invited and he jumps at the chance. Mickey meets him at the 47th street Red Line station and they walk the couple of blocks to his house. He’s never really been to Mickey’s neighborhood before, besides passing through on the L, and yeah, it’s pretty bad. Maybe not quite as bad as Englewood, but definitely rotting away. There are barely any stores open on the main avenue and about a quarter of the houses that haven’t been bulldozed are boarded up, while a lot of the rest look like they should be. Mickey’s block isn’t the worst, but as they walk past the few habitable looking homes Ian understands that Mickey’s isn’t going to be among them as they approach it and enter.

Ian tries to school his face, but he’s never been much of an actor and he’s sure Mickey can tell. It definitely puts him into context. There’s a lot of broken shit lying around, some of it patched up with tape, the walls are covered with grime, stained from cigarette smoke and mold – but most noticeably they’re peppered with holes, where countless angry fists have smashed through the plaster. It’s definitely not the kind of environment where a gay kid could find acceptance. Mickey can obviously sense his discomfort and asks if he wants something to eat. 

“Got a bunch of pizza rolls, if you’re hungry?” 

“Sure,” he replies and he sees Mickey go rummage in a freezer that looks very empty. He wonders if he bought them just for him. 

“Movie? DVDs are over there,” he grunts, inclining his head towards a huge television and speaker set that Ian’s 100% sure hasn’t been obtained legally. He settles on ‘Under Siege’ and Mickey comes over with a beer for him. They talk for a little while, but then the door slams and Ian sees a really pretty girl walk past and into her room. She doesn’t even look over, but he can see that she’s got the same striking blue eyes and black hair as Mickey.

“Who’s _that?”_ he asks.

“Mandy. Sister,” Mickey grunts.

“Wow! She’s like you, but hot.” 

Mickey gets up off the sofa and starts sharpening knives.

“She straight?” Ian asks.

“Yeah. But don’t touch my sister.”

“I broke up with my girlfriend so …”

“I mean it. Don’t touch my sister.”

“All right psycho, I won’t touch your sister.” He pauses. “Unless she wants me to.”

Mickey stabs his knife down into the wooden table and goes to fetch the pizza rolls.

If Ian didn’t know any better, he’d say he was jealous.

* * *

Ian tries to find Mandy’s social media accounts as soon as he gets home. It takes a little digging, especially as Mickey doesn’t have anything, so he can’t look through his connections to find her. He does eventually find one he’s pretty sure is her and sends a message, even though he feels like a creep.

She’s pretty frosty at first, but warms up after a few days, probably because if a grumpy bastard like Mickey could like him then he must be okay. She’s a lot like her brother, if not as aggressive, and they click quickly over their shared sense of humor. He likes her a lot and definitely wants to get to know her better, so he starts thinking of an excuse to meet up that isn’t going to get him killed. Luckily it’s the right time of year, so he taps out the message and holds his breath.

_Do you want to go to my prom with me?_

* * *

Two weeks later he’s waiting outside his prep-school for Mandy, chain-smoking his way through several cigarettes. He’s really fucking nervous and that’s only compounded when he sees her. She looks beautiful. Ian had been secretly afraid that she might turn up looking a bit trailer-trash and, while he doesn’t really give a shit, he wants her to feel comfortable around what could be a bunch of judgy assholes. But she’s nailed it. Nice dress that looks like it might have had a bunch of diamantes removed to tone it down, hair up and sultry, smoky eyes. He gives her a corsage which she rolls her eyes at but puts on anyway. Then she takes a hip flask out of her purse and swallows some, not giving a shit who sees her and passes it over to Ian.

“Let’s get this over with.”

They wait in a long line for photographs and, while their conversation is stilted at first, they soon relax around each other, possibly because of the vodka. When it’s finally their turn she refuses to do any of the poses where she has to drape her arms around him, grumbling in profanity leaden sentences that she’s not a fucking Barbie doll that needs to be twisted around him, and Ian grins like a big goof.

They take their seats at a table with a few of Ian’s less obnoxious friends, but then he looks down and remembers that this is going to be a seven course meal, complete with amuse bouche and palate cleansers, and he wonders if growing up in that house she knows how to use _any_ utensils. He leans over and starts whispering about fish knives, but she gives him a death stare and snaps back: “I’ve seen Titanic, I know what the fuck I’m doing, you snooty little bitch.” Ian smiles fondly again.

The meal begins and they eat their way through a couple of courses, as Mandy rolls her eyes through conversations about peoples’ upcoming vacations and which colleges they’re going to and finally interrupts a bunch of inside jokes, telling the table of ‘boring fucks’ that they need to lighten up. She pulls out her purse, which it turns out contains an entire pharmacy, then passes around Es and baggies of coke and even some LSD for that pretentious arty kid, which is enough to endear her to all the boys and about half the girls at the table. She really is her brother with tits and Ian is very, very confused as to how he feels about that.

After dinner she goes to the bathroom to ‘powder her nose,’ and that seems to be enough to get her out on the dance floor, where they prance around like idiots, having a good time in their bubble. She even consents to a couple of slow dances, wrapping her arms around his neck and swaying until Ian pulls some stupid faces that make her laugh loudly, drawing all the other lovebirds’ ire for ruining the ambiance.

At some point they escape for a cigarette and Ian drinks the rest of her hip flask, turning down the weed, MDMA, PCP and meth she tries to foist on him. “Nah, I’ve always been a lightweight; this is enough for me,” he smiles. 

He’s still really, _really_ confused. On the one hand she’s probably the coolest girl he’s met in a long time, softness buried under her hard shell like her brother. He’s booked a hotel room, a nice one, like everyone else, and he can tell she’s definitely up for it. 

On the other hand, he can also see that it’s more than horniness driving her and that she really _does_ like him. She’s probably going to get attached pretty quickly, even if she says it’s just casual sex. 

Ian’s always been shit at relationships. He’s a bit of a commitment phobe, if he’s honest. He likes it to begin with, but once things start to get serious, like making plans long in advance, or no longer having to be on his best behavior around their parents, he gets a little jumpy and starts looking for the emergency exit. The truth is he’s never been in love and, as much as he likes her, he doesn’t think it’s going to happen in the few months before he leaves for West Point. Maybe he’s just a hopeless romantic, but he still thinks in his heart that when he finds the right girl there’ll be an instant connection and, while he might not recognize it consciously to begin with, a part of him deep down will know.

And then there’s Mickey. Even though he hadn’t exactly been pleased with him chasing his sister, he can tell that the siblings share a bond. Ian’s been through enough break ups now to know that people take sides. You always lose a few friends that you’ve made, usually because they go back further with the other party. They may pretend to hate each other, but he’s got no doubts that Mickey’ll side with his sister. Romantic relationships may go on for years, but good friendships can last a lifetime. Ian knows he’d rather lose Mandy than Mickey, and when he thinks about it that way he knows he needs to cut her loose when it’s going to cause the least amount of pain.

Which means now.

He lights up a second cigarette, as does she, blowing a smoke ring into his face and beginning to look at him seductively. Ian knows it’s probably not long now before she pins him up against a wall and shoves her hands down his pants. He rubs at the back of his neck and steels himself.

“Listen, Mandy … you’re awesome, fucking awesome and gorgeous too, and I booked a hotel room and everything but … I’m having second thoughts.”

“What?!” she says angrily and Ian’s worried she might scratch his eyeballs out or something.

“Mandy, I promise, I swear it’s nothing personal. You’re really hot, but I dunno, I think it’ll make things weird with your brother. We’re really close and you … you’d just complicate things.”

She’s still looking at him like she might chop his nuts off, so he throws in a sweetener to try and soothe the sting.

“I mean … you can still use the hotel room, if you like?”

Then she _does_ get violent, kneeing him hard in the balls and doubling him over in pain.

“I’m not a fucking whore because I’m South Side, you bitch!”

Ian coughs a bit and tries to stand up straight, although he doesn’t quite make it.

“No! No, I just meant you could have fun ordering loads of room service and wreck the mini bar and stuff – run up a huge tab to spite me.”

“Fuck you Ian, I don’t need your charity.”

She kicks him in the balls one last time and leaves without another word. He guesses he’s probably never going to set foot in the Milkovich house again.


	3. Chapter 3

West Point is fucking awesome. Okay, it’s really hard at the start when they have to do the six-week ‘Beast’ physical initiation, and he doesn’t enjoy having to take orders from all the older cadets because he’s in his plebe year, but he gets to do Rambo shit nearly every day. There are guns and bombs and tactical simulations and survival skills and he’s decided to go the route of becoming an Apache helicopter pilot. He’s doing okay on the academic side of things too, although he’s nowhere near the top of the class. He even joins the wrestling club for fun, despite not being good enough to make the team.

He comes back at Christmas and gushes to Mickey about it all, then hears what he’s been up to (or more precisely what he _hasn’t_ been up to), and it infuriates him. He’s taking this ‘fucked for life’ thing way too seriously, and when Ian tries to give him a pep-talk he shuts him down completely. It’s almost like he _wants_ to stay down. Life is what you make of it, no excuses, and Mickey needs to learn that lesson. If he won’t do it willingly then Ian’s gonna do it for him, West Point style. He spends a whole day writing out a planner that details how he can be a functional, employed, independent person within a year and draws up a budget to go with it. He also manages to find a job opening that looks like a perfect fit for him, so long as he can get along with children enough not to strangle them. Mickey’ll thank him in the end, even if it’s like pulling teeth right now.

Mickey gets the job, and Ian’s really fucking proud. More importantly though, he’s earning enough that he can start saving to get out of that house of horrors. Ian’s shocked to discover that he’s never had a bank account, so he makes him get one as soon as he’s back for spring break, and Mickey starts saving at such a rapid rate Ian can’t even fathom how he’s getting food.

The other thing bothering him is that Mickey’s given up on wrestling, which was clearly the best thing he had going for him. He thinks it’ll be easy to get him back in training, but when he starts researching he understands better why it had happened. There really isn’t much out there for a talented guy who’s not in college, and he can’t seem to find any information on the internet. Mickey was also right about him having zero chance of getting into a university, and Ian knows it’ll probably be years before he could get a GED. He starts to wonder how many other poor kids with potential fall into the same hole. 

He ends up doing things the old-fashioned way and telephones the state association for advice. They inform him about the elite training program, but that it’s only for high-ranking NCAA athletes. Ian pleads Mickey’s case, especially having won the fucking state championship last year, and they agree to consider an exception. Mickey makes it, and Ian breathes a huge sigh of relief, knowing that this one will make the biggest difference in his life. His rate of saving drops from all the gas he’s using driving there, but Ian knows he’s secretly thrilled.

When Mickey moves out in the summer, Ian makes another startling discovery - namely that he doesn’t own anything besides two trash bags of clothes. Even rifling through the crap in the Milkovich house doesn’t produce much of anything and he knows the guy doesn’t have enough money to furnish a house. Ian scrolls through craigslist and finds some stuff that looks like shit, but is at least functional and being sold cheap. He secretly picks some of it up and hides things in drawers and cupboards in Mickey’s new apartment, hoping he’ll think they were left behind by the former occupants. In the end though, Mickey turns up with loads of pretty nice furniture, and Ian knows by now not to ask where it came from.

He’s still worried about his isolation though, especially once he goes back to West Point, so he decides on a new challenge since he’s had so much success so far. Mickey’s a grumpy fuck, but Ian knows there’s a pretty big, beating heart under all that, so if he can find someone just as grouchy they might actually get along. Ian’s also beginning to realize quite how much sway he has with the guy too, so he pushes his luck once more and drags him to Boystown.

* * *

And that’s how Ian finds himself drunk in a booth with two other men, sipping on a fruity cocktail that Mickey had almost refused to order for him. They’re cool enough guys, and one of them’s definitely giving Mickey the come on, so he figures he’ll at least get laid by someone he’s talked to for a few hours. It’s progress. Maybe they’ll even do it again? More progress.

Ian takes his wingman duties very seriously, so he keeps the other guy entertained enough that Mickey can talk to his ‘date’ without interruption. It’s weird being hit on by a dude. There’s the usual easy ‘bro’ talk, but with a sexual undercurrent that Ian’s not sure he finds amusing or terrifying. He tries to relax into it, even though he’s wondering a little how he’s going to get rid of him once Mickey and the other man take off. It looks like Ian’s date has other ideas though, clearly wanting them to be the first to leave. He starts feeling little movements under the table, knees and feet brushing against each other. He knows that if he exits with this guy first and then blows him off, he’ll probably come right back to the bar and ruin things for Mickey. But then the man starts making little subtle eye movements towards the bathrooms and Ian realizes that he doesn’t necessarily want to take him home with him. It would certainly kill two birds with one stone: he could get rid of him without having to have embarrassing conversations about why he’s changed his mind, and it would give Mickey time to get out of there. He’s curious, honestly. He’s always been open-minded and he’s had quite a lot to drink (or at least a lot for him) and he’s feeling somewhat daring. Try everything once, right? And a blow job’s probably as gender-neutral as he’s gonna get when it comes to sex acts. He’ll never see the man again after ten minutes, so he makes a decision and runs with it.

It’s a little awkward when the guy pins him up against the wall of the stall and starts kissing his neck, but Ian just pushes his head down and he seems to like the assertiveness. He crouches down and undoes Ian’s belt, pulling his pants and boxers down far enough to get at his cock, but not so much that they’re hanging around his ankles. Thankfully Ian’s got an erection, so he hasn’t been outed as an impostor yet, and the guy is delighted by what he finds, pulling him eagerly into his mouth.

And … it’s kinda okay. It’s weird at first, but as he distracts himself better it starts feeling pretty good.

But then the remainder of his dick is grasped by a large, tight fist and it’s CALLOUSED. Really fucking rough and it snaps Ian right back into the present. Then the guy starts grunting, apparently getting deep into his work and making the kind of noises that must sound arousing to other men. Ian’s just about to push him off and pull his pants up when he does this _thing_ with his tongue, something no-one’s ever done before, and holy shit does it feel good. So good that he melts back into the cubicle wall and lets out a breathy little _‘fuck’._ And he guesses it’s just because men have bigger mouths and bigger throats and maybe this guy’s had a lot of practice, but he’s definitely taking him deeper than any girl’s ever done, and the difference is pretty fucking apparent.

The man pulls Ian’s underwear a little further down his legs, and he realizes with a start where his other hand is going. He tenses up, but doesn’t push him off, barely caring that it’s a dude at this point otherwise. His fingers graze against his asshole, and there’s no lube besides the spit on his fingers, but then he does the tongue thing again and Ian relaxes completely, allowing two knuckles to easily slide inside. 

And fuck, he likes it. Really fucking likes it, especially the rhythmic combination of pushing and pulling and now he doesn’t care who’s blowing him at all. Hell, it’s kinda hot that it’s a guy who clearly knows what he’s doing. Ian lets out a little moan when he slips a second finger in and starts to circle the drain. He drops his hands down to rest on the man’s head, scrunching his fingers through his slicked back hair, feeling it bob up and down, taking what Ian’s giving, not caring one jot that his locks aren’t long and flowing like a girl’s. He starts to pant as he begins to come undone and finally finds the courage to open his eyes and look down to watch. The guy’s raven-black hair is mussed up from Ian’s fingers, and it looks– it looks like– 

“Mickey?” he whispers. 

The man instantly stills and looks up with a devilish smile, even though he’s still got Ian’s cock in his mouth, knowing _exactly_ who he’s talking about. 

Holy fuck, he can’t believe he said that out loud. 

Ian grabs at his pants, pulling the guy’s fingers out of his ass and dick out of his mouth and trips out of the stall as fast as he can. He’s gonna have the worst case of blue-balls of his life, having only been seconds from coming, but he’s way too embarrassed to change his mind. Thank fuck Mickey and the other guy have already left, because he definitely couldn’t have looked him in the eye after all that.

_What the fuck just happened?!_

* * *

The next morning he’s feeling far more certain that the whole thing was one _big_ mistake and that his pleasure and confusion was down to the alcohol, the guy’s Olympic level skills and the sheer exoticness of the situation, so he messages Mickey to avoid any potential misunderstandings.

_A mouth is not a mouth._

_I told you, idiot. What happened?_

_It was kinda okay at first, but then he grabbed my dick and started pumping the part that wasn’t in his mouth and he had REALLY calloused hands, so I definitely couldn’t pretend it was a girl. And then he started grunting with his deep voice, so that was another turn off and finally he tried to stick his fingers up my ass. Not doing that again._

Okay, so the bit about the fingers isn’t strictly true, but he’s not lying about the other stuff _per se._

_You should have used a glory hole._

_Do I want to know what that is?_

_You ever go in a toilet and see a hole in the wall about four inches wide between the stalls? You stick your cock in there and the guy on the other side sucks it. You don’t have to see who it is and they definitely can’t shove their fingers in your ass._

_I’d say thanks, but I don’t think there’s going to be a next time._

Definitely not going to be a next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s Freudian slips, and then there’s Ian.
> 
> Even the dude in the bathroom knew they were in love.


	4. Chapter 4

Ian enters his second year at West Point a little less enthusiastically than the last. He’s definitely still happy to be there, but finds himself getting homesick occasionally when the academic pressure is particularly high. The demands have definitely been ramped up this year, even if he’s still loving playing Rambo.

His mom starts bugging him about the ‘Mysterious Mickey’ at Christmas. Ian tries to explain exactly how South Side he is and why he’d probably rather cut off his head than come to a dinner party on the North Side, but she won’t take no for an answer. He makes excuses until he can escape back to New York at the end of his leave, but once he’s home for spring break she starts in on him again, and he knows that if he doesn’t do it soon she’ll probably steal Mickey’s details from his phone and call him herself.

Mickey's initially about as taken with the idea as expected, but he backs down surprisingly easily, and Ian wonders if he’s actually curious about them. He begs his siblings not to be shitty and makes his mother promise not to make too big a deal over it and it ends up going surprisingly well. Mickey doesn’t stab anyone and Lip isn’t an ass and Debbie doesn’t hit on him and his mom doesn’t fuss, which is basically a huge win. Mickey doesn’t like them, obviously, but dislike on the Mickey scale of hate is pretty good for a bunch of privileged North Siders. It’s also a huge novelty to see him dressed up, looking uncomfortable as fuck in a shirt with a collar. He cleans up well, like his sister, and Ian wonders if he’ll ever realize just how handsome he really is.

They’re getting closer too. Mickey’s got his guard down around him pretty much all the time and Ian starts to tell him things that he’s never confessed to anyone. He tells him about his mom’s disorder and his fears about getting it himself and even the truth about how he was conceived. That his real dad is probably some crackhead and that his first few months _in utero_ were probably far from ideal. Mickey tells him stuff too, things Ian’s sure he’s never spoken out loud, even if he suspects it’s only the very tip of the horrific iceberg.

Ian had known he was going to spend a lot of the summer before his third year at training camps, but it’s usually in the US where they can at least get enough leave to head back home once or twice. But this year there are war games going on in Asia and they’re going to be deployed there instead. On the one hand he’s pretty thrilled to be travelling to some cool places and doing the kinds of things he didn’t think he’d get to try until he was commissioned after graduation, like using fucking _missiles._ But on the other, it does mean that all his leave is going to be spent overseas, and he struggles for a while over how to break this to his family. He knows it’s the kind of thing he needs to prepare for, as foreign deployments are usually around the same length, but it’s tough the first time. 

It’s not always easy keeping in touch either. The training is pretty intense and some of the areas they’re stationed in are remote with no cell signal, let alone data. He also doesn’t have an awful lot of free time and when he actually finds himself back in civilization there’s usually a huge glut of messages and emails from his family. Even though they're not as close as they used to be he misses them and his homesickness becomes more pervasive.

He misses Mickey too. He’s got his friends at West Point, but it’s not always fun being around people exactly like yourself. He’s always valued just how different the two of them are, yet how they seem to connect on a deeper level. Opposites attract, and all that, so he finds he’s never too far from his thoughts. When he’s in the Philippines, Ian often thinks about just how pissed Mickey would be if he were trekking through the sweaty jungle with a full pack, like him. In South Korea he imagines how hilarious it would be to see him struggling with chopsticks, and when he finally makes it to Tokyo, somewhere he’s always wanted to visit, all he can think about is Mickey’s angry Godzilla stomping around, trying to destroy him from within. He hopes he’s still fending it off.

He has to go straight back to West Point as soon as he returns to the States and he’s more homesick than ever in the run-up to Christmas. Hell, he even misses Debbie. But he misses Mickey the most, because no-one understands him better. He tries to keep up with his wrestling competitions and congratulate him, so fucking proud of how far he’s come in every way since he was telling him to fuck off in an alley a few years back.

When he comes home at Christmas, he’s touched by just how happy Mickey is to see him. He tries not to show it, but Ian can tell he’s missed him just as much as he has. And _fuck_ has he missed him.

When he hears about Mickey’s upcoming meet he knows he has to go. He hasn’t seen him wrestle since he last destroyed him in high school, and he’s so excited to see what he can do these days, after nearly two years of intensive training. He’s trying to make up for the lack of time they’ve had together in the last year, and a road trip sounds like an awesome way to do it.

And Mickey’s amazing. The competition is high level and involves the kind of moves Ian could never have pulled off in a million years, but Mickey takes it all in his stride. Ian’s bowled over by just how good he is now and excited about where the next few years will take him. He beams all the way through and shouts himself hoarse cheering so much from his seat.

Once they begin their drive home Mickey falls asleep in his rolled-back seat pretty much instantly, and for the next few hours Ian can’t help glancing over to watch him. He’s never seen him like this before, completely relaxed and his face peaceful – almost innocent. He looks like a fucking baby rabbit lying there all curled up, and Ian adds it to the mental list of things he must never, _ever_ tell him, if he wants to retain his teeth. He’s glad that he can at least find some respite from the world in his dreams. 

He doesn’t have much to keep him going though, since listening to music or the radio would disturb Mickey, and he eventually accepts that he’s not fit to drive. He pulls into the next gas station and finally wakes him.

“Hey, I’m getting pretty sleepy, you gonna to be okay to take over?”

He’s not sure Mickey’s any less comatose, but Ian figures a coffee will get him going, so he buys one and fills up the tank, then swaps seats. Once he’s out of the driver’s seat though, he starts to feel a little more alert. Now that Mickey’s awake they can have some music and he imagines a sort of [Wayne’s World moment](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=thyJOnasHVE) of them head-banging, so he turns on the radio but of course doesn’t find anything like Bohemian Rhapsody. Still, he’s sure Mickey probably hates country, so he decides to annoy him with a little sing-along, which definitely does the trick.

Then a blinding light fills the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Monica knew.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Like the Mickey POV version of this chapter, there is graphic imagery of the aftermath of the crash and the injuries that result, particularly in the first section. It's no better or worse than what you read last time.

Ian opens his eyes. He takes some deep breaths to try to steady his racing heart and surveys the scene of destruction before him. He doesn’t know how long it’s been, but probably not more than a minute or two and while he’s dazed, he’s not so woozy that he’s going to pass out immediately. His arm is in the kind of agony that means it must be broken, and his face is burning, stinging and throbbing. His vision is getting cloudy and he constantly has to blink away the liquid that’s running into it. He rubs at one eye to clear it and looks down to see his shirt and lap covered in blood. Yeah, he’s definitely bleeding heavily from his head. It looks like his airbag has exploded in his face, judging by the crater in the dashboard and the bag sagging into the footwell. Ian goes to clear the other eye but immediately recoils in pain and winces. Much more gently he lifts a finger to feel the area and oh fuck, there’s something sticking out. Fuck. He can’t see anything out of it either and he’s got a very bad feeling that it isn’t blood that’s causing it. He gently traces the contours of his face and discerns there are several more objects embedded, presumably plastic or metal shards from the dash.

He hears a groaning then and looks to his left to see Mickey starting to stir. The steering wheel has lodged itself deep into his abdomen and Ian’s stomach twists, realizing how much damage that’s probably doing. The rest of the car has been squished up and, while Ian’s probably got some serious bruising to his knees and legs, the compression hasn’t been too bad on his side and he’s pretty sure he’s not got any broken bones from it. It’s much, much worse where Mickey’s sitting though and he’s sure there’s no way he’ll have gotten away without broken legs. Mickey starts to sit up and blinks a few times, still looking only half conscious, and Ian can see that his face is grey and clammy from cold sweat.

His attention is then dragged back to the car that’s crashed into them head-on when he sees flames begin to lap around the edges of its hood. Ian’s good eye is filling with blood again so he wipes it with his sleeve and looks over to Mickey’s side again. The ignition’s still on. He gropes for his seatbelt lock, having to reach across his body painfully with his usable arm, then lurches towards the steering wheel as fast as he can to turn the key to the off position.

Then he takes another look at Mickey, who’s still looking extremely faint, and sees that his right arm is pinned by the steering wheel too. He’s not going to be able to escape if their car catches light. Ian fumbles with the door on his side, which thankfully opens, so he rolls out, shouting from the pain in his arm once he hits the ground, even though it hadn’t actually touched it. He grits his teeth and gets up, choking on the intensifying smoke as he hobbles around to Mickey’s door. It’s fucked. Totally fucked and all he can do is pull at the useless handle in desperation. Thankfully he can hear the wail of sirens close by and it gives him just a little bit of hope that he’s not about to lose Mickey in a bonfire. 

The fire-brigade arrive first and work fast to douse the cars, while a paramedic gently herds Ian away to inspect him and give him an injection for the pain. He gets a splint on his arm, then the ambulance arrives and he’s quickly put inside. There, aware that there’s nothing else that he can do, he passes out from the shock, pain and drugs.

* * *

When he comes round in hospital he’s already got a cast on his arm and he can only see through one eye, like in the car. He’d hoped it was just the blood blinding him, even though he could feel the object and immense pain in the area, but now he’s certain he knows what’s happened.

There’s a nurse at the foot of his bed fiddling with his chart and she comes over when she sees him rustling.

“Mr Gallagher, are you all right?”

“Ugh. I feel awful.”

“Yes you’ve got some bad injuries. How is your pain?”

“Umm. It’s kind of there but it’s not too bad.” Then his brain jolts back into full consciousness.

“Where’s Mickey? Is he okay?!”

“Who?”

“The guy I came in with. He was in worse shape than I was.”

“Hmm, I’ll go check the records for you. The doctor should be by to see you soon too, now that you’re up.”

She comes back five minutes later and Ian desperately searches her face for signs, holding his breath in anticipation of bad news.

“Mr Milkovich is in emergency surgery now. He’s in a critical condition and will be moved to the ICU once they’re finished.”

_Fuck Mickey._

“What are his chances?”

“We can’t make predictions like that. I can only say that it’s serious.”

“Can I go see him, once he’s out?”

“Are you his next of kin?”

“I– I … might be? I’m his best friend.”

“That probably won’t be enough. We only allow ICU visits to very close family; once he’s moved out you’ll be able to see him. But you’re in bad condition yourself, a doctor will have to clear it.”

“Please! We don’t live anywhere near here; we were driving back to Chicago. There’s no way anyone could make it at short notice and- ” Ian loses his voice and a huge lump rises in his throat. “-and if he doesn’t make it I don’t want him to die alone.”

She looks at him sympathetically and promises she’ll try for him, before she leaves. When she comes back half an hour later she confirms that, yes, they’ll let him in once Mickey’s out of surgery, for a short visit. Then she informs him that it’s still likely to be several hours, so he should get some rest. He’s tired as fuck, so he takes her advice and quickly nods off, hoping against hope that Mickey won’t die on the table while he’s asleep.

He’s woken a few hours later by a different nurse, who tells him that Mickey’s out of surgery and that it’s gone well, thank God, and it turns out Ian’s number two on Mickey’s emergency list anyway and they haven’t been able to get a hold of Mandy yet. He helps Ian down from the bed and into a wheelchair and rolls him into the ICU. Mickey looks terrible - bruised and battered purple, a cast on one arm and God knows how many injuries hidden under his blanket. They wheel him to the side of the bed with the non-busted arm so that he can hold his hand while the doctor tells him about all his injuries. It’s not pretty. A broken arm, a broken leg, broken ribs, concussion, a ruptured spleen, internal bleeding and most horribly a mangled leg that they’ve had to amputate below the knee because of crush injuries. Ian doesn’t know what to say, he just sits there and watches him, stroking his hand until his fifteen minutes is up. Then they return Ian to his room, promising to send him back if Mickey starts to deteriorate.

* * *

Ian’s entire family, even his dad Frank, arrive that afternoon having hopped the first flight they could. He’s glad to see them of course, but he feels awfully sorry for Mandy, who probably can’t afford to come down at all. Ian convinces them to buy her a ticket, but when he gets through to her she demurs, saying she should wait until Mickey wakes up to let him decide if he wants her to come, as he seems to be over the worst of it. He’s always hated people fussing over him and seeing him when he’s weak, and he might do nothing but cuss her out. Thankfully Mickey’s stabilized, but he’s not out of the woods completely, and they’re keeping him in a coma to heal while they monitor him for rhabdomyolysis from kidney injuries and compartment syndrome.

Ian’s injuries aren’t exactly light either, but his family are way more upset than he is when the physician confirms that, yes, there’s nothing they can do for his eye and it’s going to have to come out. He has light surgery the second day to put a temporary prosthesis in there to keep the socket healthy, while his parents call the best ophthalmologists in Chicago to learn what they can do to keep him looking as normal as possible. He’s still completely swaddled in bandages and his stitches are beginning to itch, but it really doesn’t seem fair that he got off so lightly, when Mickey had nearly died.

Mickey comes round on the third day and Ian’s so fucking relieved he can barely speak, even though he has to break the news to him about his leg. The second and third times he wakes up he’s a lot more lucid, but then Ian has to tell him that he’s been discharged and is flying back to Chicago that day, so he’s going to be there on his own for weeks. He tries to convince him to let Mandy come, but Mickey refuses, of course, telling him that she’ll annoy the fuck out of him after ten minutes and he doesn’t want to upend her life and work. Ian feels real guilty, but his hands are kind of tied here so he reluctantly returns home.

Three weeks later they fly Mickey home and he’s in a REALLY bad mood, having been stir crazy in the Bumblefuck hospital for weeks. He bitches the whole way back to Chicago and Ian would sock him if he wasn’t so worried about his injuries.

Mickey’s bad mood persists all through rehab, although he does at least seem to chill out around Ian as his visits continue, so he must be doing something right. He knows that this is Mickey’s way of grieving and coping with everything that’s happened to them, but he wishes he’d find a more constructive outlet. He’s also not convinced that being a little bitch is all that effective either, but of course Mickey refuses to see a counselor, and Ian accepts that he’s powerless here too. He just prays that he accepts his offer to move in with him and that being together more will help him loosen up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The nurses knew.


	6. Chapter 6

Once Mickey’s back in Chicago in rehab, Ian gets hold of his keys and goes to inspect his apartment. It’s like a bomb dropped. Even worse, the TV is gone and he knows exactly who’s stolen it. He goes out and buys an identical model because he’s sure Mickey would be so frustrated at being unable to beat the shit out of that neckbeard due to his injuries, he’d probably act out in some other terrible way. Ian’s pretty hopeful he’s going to get one over on the douche by forcing him out though, and he’s going to make sure Mickey keeps every cent of his deposit.

He’s called Mandy a few times by now about Mickey’s condition, bringing him home and where he’d be in rehab. She’d seemed okay with him on the phone, even though it was the first time they’d interacted since his prom. When she hears about what he’s doing with Mickey’s apartment she offers to come by and help too and, while Ian’s still a little frightened she might kick him in the nuts again once she gets the chance to see him in the flesh, it goes well and they turn out to make a good team once the initial awkwardness is out of the way. He remembers then why he liked her so much in the first place. When Mickey’s time in rehab is up the place is spotless, despite his roommate’s efforts to undo all their hard work. He’s never hated someone so much in his life.

Ian knows Mickey’s going to be in a foul mood once he’s discharged, so he makes sure to stock the fridge with plenty of beer and jello and hopes for the best. He’s grumpy, predictably, but he gets a couple of beers in and chills out, and Ian’s nervous about what he needs to ask him, so he has two himself. They sit on the couch and catch up, until they’re finally relaxed enough to talk about the real shit. He knows that all those weeks in the hospital must have left Mickey trapped in his head, thinking about the changes in his life over and over again. Ian’s also had a lot of time to think, albeit in rather more comfortable surroundings. It’s a long road ahead of them, but the one thing he’s glad of (if he can be glad of anything in such a dumpster fire of a situation), is that they’re going through this together. The last few months have made him realize just how much he means to him, and he still gets a lump in his throat when he remembers how frightened he had been holding his hand in the ICU, unsure if he would pull through.

He can tell Mickey’s really struggling with the enormity of it all and especially how frustrated and freakish he feels because of his leg. Ian’s at least going though the same thing and in some ways feels like an even bigger freak, since the scars and the eye are such visible things – but then again, once he’s got the prosthesis it’ll be a lot easier to hide, and he knows the lifestyle adjustment for Mickey’s way bigger. He might even have been able to continue his wrestling career, had he only lost an eye.

Then a little bit of inspiration strikes him from his weird, overly active imagination, and he sees the two of them bound together as a two-headed, three-plus-peg-legged pirate, swashbuckling and shiver-me-timbersing with a parrot riding between their shoulders. That dumb analogy gets Mickey to smile again, so Ian runs with it, daring to tell him exactly how awesome he really is. Mickey might be abrasive on the surface, but there’s so much more to him than that and he deserves the fucking world. Ian just hopes he can find someone to give it to him.

After that he goes for broke, asking what he’s been dreading. He’s sure moving in would be in both their interests, but he knows by now not to second-guess things with Mickey. He’s learned since that first period of pushing him out of his comfort zone that there’s a fine line that needs to be tread to be successful. Push too hard and Mickey shuts down, taking all his progress with him. Going from not seeing each other for nine months to annoying the shit out of each other every day might be too much too soon, especially given all the overwhelming things that have just happened.

But it goes great. Or at least it goes great after Ian’s had a heart attack from misinterpreting Mickey’s response. He’s going to get to move in with his best friend, and it’s going to be awesome. Then, when he thinks it can’t get any better, Mickey goes and buys him a parrot. Well, procures through some kind of non-legal means that Ian’s not going to ask about, but it’s amazing and he’s never felt more understood in his whole life. It’s just fucking perfect. 

Basically, Ian’s pretty smitten with his gift, but unfortunately it seems that his gift only has eyes for Mickey.

* * *

One morning Ian shuffles sleepily into the kitchen, yawning and scratching his head, to find Mickey grumbling around Polly’s cage. 

“Why’s she acting weird?” he asks. 

He goes to have a look and sees that Mickey’s got his hand out in front of the bird, trying to get her to hop on so that he can bring her over to the counter for breakfast, but she won’t do it. Instead she moves sideways up and down her perch, sticking her foot on and off of Mickey’s fingers but refusing to step up properly and clucking strangely. Ian laughs.

“Ummm I saw a video about this. I think Polly may be a he rather than a she.”

“Wait, what?! Is it trying to fuck my hand?!” Mickey splutters as he snatches it back.

“I’d say you’re more like dating at this point.”

“If she’s a he, where’s its bird dick then?”

“Birds don’t have dicks, they have cloacas.”

“The fuck is that?”

“They only have one hole. Everything comes out of it.”

“That’s fucked up. Anyway it doesn’t even make sense – how do you get the sperm in there if they both have vaginas?”

“They do a cloacal kiss.”

“I don’t– I don’t think I want to know any more.”

“They move their tails around so that they can rub on each other. I guess it’s kinda like girls scissoring.”

“What?”

“Here …” Ian’s laptop is lying on the kitchen island, so he opens it and brings up Pornhub, then types in the keyword and turns it around so that Mickey can see two plastic pornstars banging their vaginas together and shrieking. Mickey takes a step backwards in shock and puts a hand up to cover his eyes.

 _“That’s_ how girls have sex?!” he asks in disgust.

“Eh, I think it’s more of a porn thing for men.”

“How do you know?”

“I had threesome once at West Point, with two girls. But they were way more into each other than me, so I mostly just sat there with my dick in my hand in the corner feeling like a dirty perv, which definitely isn’t my thing. Frankly, the whole thing was a gigantic turn off. But yeah, there wasn’t any scissoring or other freaky shit.”

Mickey’s still looking weirded out and Polly takes advantage of his distraction, suddenly leaping onto his shoulder and then climbing around onto his neck. The next thing Ian knows he’s started flapping his wings against Mickey’s head, biting his hair and digging his claws into his skin.

“What the fuck?! Fuck! GET OFF ME!” Mickey swipes at the bird, but Polly is _really_ determined to stay there and Ian collapses into hysterics and reaches for his phone.

“You’re not– you’re not fucking filming are you?!”

“You’re gonna be famous Mickey! I’ll put it on YouTube as [fucked by a rare parrot](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9T1vfsHYiKY/) and get all the creepy porn hits!”

“GET THIS BASTARD OFF ME RIGHT NOW YOU DOUCHE!”

Ian films a few more seconds as Polly starts to squawk, then puts it down and comes to rescue him, pulling the bird off after a few tugs.

“You shouldn’t have worn green, Mickey,” he smiles.

“This shirt is getting ditched right now!” Mickey pulls it off and holds it away from his body, opens the trashcan and drops it in.

“Guess we finally found the one gay thing you’re not into, huh?”

Mickey gives him a middle finger as Ian places Polly into his cage to cool off, although from the happy expression on his face he guesses he’s already had his fun.

“So, do we need to get you some emergency contraception? Or are you going to keep it?”

“Fuck off.”

“Well when you have it, I want you to call it Ian for me. I guess you’re finally gonna learn what chicks dig! It’ll be eggcellent!”

“Jesus Christ, are you done yet?!”

“No, but I think he is.”

Mickey storms off to his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Polly knew. And got real fucking jealous.
> 
> For the record, some birds do have bird dicks, but they’re mainly restricted to ratites (ostriches, emus etc.) and waterfowl. Never, ever google duck mating habits or you’ll never be able to look them in the eyes again. Seriously, it’s ducked up. I’ll just say that sometimes gay necrophilia is involved. Oh yeah and they’re cannibals. Otters are like that too.
> 
> Also, [Sirocco](https://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/seduced-rare-parrot-180962855) (from the video I plagiarised) is such are rare parrot that they actually built a [jizz helmet](https://www.flickr.com/photos/the_sleepydumpling/7690387000) to collect his semen, for when he shags unsuspecting visitors.
> 
> Isn’t nature cool?


	7. Chapter 7

Ian gets into the University of Chicago and his first semester is pretty fucking hard because he’s so behind, having spent the last few weeks recuperating and shopping his credits around. He thinks about just deferring it, but his pride and determination to not let the accident fuck him over won’t let him, so he grinds. He’s never been very good at studying at home either, so that means long hours in the library, racking up a tab so large in the campus cafes it makes even his eyes water. 

He’s still really uncertain about what he wants to do after graduation. He’d declared as biology major at West Point, mostly just because he had to pick something. He’s always liked animals and ecology and shit like that, but all he really knew was that he was terrible at math and physics and engineering. Once he’d realized he’d have to do a lot of that to start flying helicopters he reconsidered and toyed with the idea of going down a health route, but being a medic isn’t a job officers are allowed and he wasn’t sure he was cut out for med school. He continues with that major now, but still doesn’t know where he’s going with it.

He doesn’t have a huge amount of time for socializing with all those classes, but he usually manages to get out once a week downtown with his high school friends who are left in the city, plus the occasional visitor from out of town. Although it’s fun to be back with them more often, the novelty wears off pretty quickly. He’s not sure if it’s just that he’s spent so much time around Mickey, who’s their complete opposite, or if the accident’s shocked him into a later stage of adulthood, but they start to grate on him. He’d ditched his more obnoxious acquaintances when he went off to West Point, but even the ones he’s kept around seem superficial and overly privileged now. They’re not bad guys, but they throw their money around trying to impress similarly superficial girls and act like the world is their oyster – which it is and they know it. Ian slowly realizes that they’re not going to get any deeper or wiser with time, just that their priorities will change and they’ll throw their money at their ex-wives and spousal support payments instead, like his dad.

Still, it turns out chicks _do_ dig scars, even if they’re a bit weirded out by the lazy eye sometimes. He might have been a pity fuck once or twice, but he doesn’t care. He’s not looking for love right now. So the superficial girls that his friends have wooed with champagne keep finding their way home with him, even if Mickey and the neighborhood scare them off the next morning. He loves seeing their faces when they first catch sight of those knuckle tats.

At the other end of the scale, living with Mickey has really driven home exactly how isolated the guy is. He talks to Mandy on the phone sometimes, but Ian never sees her and there’s only a couple of employees at the charity. Ian really is the only thing he’s got, and that worries him sometimes. He does at least seem to be getting laid though, so he guesses he’s not a complete hermit, even if he doubts they’re doing much talking. He’s often out in the evenings and comes back fairly late, presumably from some guy’s house.

He’d also never realized just how _testy_ Mickey can be. Obviously he knew he was a grouch, but not this day-in-day-out irritability over the smallest things. It feels like they’ve been married forty years sometimes. He doesn’t regret his decision to move in, but God he wishes he would shut the fuck up and do some anger management classes sometimes. Mickey’s always been fiercely independent and proud of his self-reliance though, so Ian knows there’s no way this horse is even going to make it to water, let alone drink it. And once he remembers that wrestling was probably exactly what he did to deal with it in first place, he feels guilty for even getting mildly frustrated.

Still, as the months pass he begins to wonder if he shouldn’t be taking no for an answer, the way he did that first year when he got Mickey employed and out from under his dad’s shitty roof. He refuses Ian’s proposal to get him an awesome Terminator leg. His current one isn’t _terrible,_ terrible, but it definitely limits his range of motion and the kind of things he can do and he knows Mickey’s self-conscious about his gait. But he won’t hear of it, no matter how many angles Ian approaches it from. 

He also refuses his family’s offers to take him on vacation with them. They usually go to the Virgin Islands for at least one week each summer, but Mickey uses the excuse of not having a passport and not having time to get one. When Ian counters that it's a US territory so he doesn’t need one, he complains about his brothers and burning in the sun and sand sticking to his balls and all manner of other things until he gives up.

He finally prevails when it gets to Christmas though, refusing to let him spend it alone, and Mickey seems so worn down by that point that he agrees with relatively little prodding after Ian promises to make it as short a visit as possible. He regrets it though, when he sees just how far out of his comfort zone it pushes him. Mickey’s been to a few of his family’s celebrations by this point, but they’d always been in the evening when he could drink, so celebrating Christmas morning with stockings, as his family still do, sans alcohol, is way too much and Ian can tell because he’s not actually grumpy about the whole thing, just quiet.

Then the anniversary of their accident comes and Ian doesn’t know what the fuck to do, genuinely at sea as to whether they should talk about it or ignore it completely. Of course he goes with ignore, because Mickey seems even more distant than he was over Christmas. Ian’s at the point where he’s worried that this isn’t just Mickey’s usual reticence, but he knows he probably needs to let him deal with it in his own way and that he’s bound to be feeling as raw as he is right now, given everything they’ve been through this year.

But then he gets the phone call.

* * *

Ian groans as he’s dragged from his sleep by an aggravating noise from his phone. He swipes at it, trying to silence it, but slowly comes to understand that it’s ringing. Who the fuck is calling at this hour? Mickey had been out again all evening and he figures he’s probably wasted and trying to get a ride home. But when he opens his eyes fully it’s a number he doesn’t recognize. He considers letting it ring, but really, who calls in the middle of the night if it’s not important?

“Hello?” he answers, voice drunk from sleep.

“Is this Ian Gallagher?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m afraid we have a Mykhailo Milkovich here in the University of Chicago Medical Center ICU. You’re listed at the top of his emergency list.”

Ian sits bold upright, suddenly wide awake.

“What the– what happened to Mickey?!” The desperation is clear in his voice.

“It looks like a heroin overdose. We advise you to come as quickly as possible.”

Ian hangs up, whole body quivering and then trips and falls to the floor as he tries to get out of bed.

_Heroin?! What the fuck Mickey?!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the girls knew. They were less superficial than Ian gave them credit for.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare to cry.
> 
> T.W. Some additional medical stuff about Mickey’s overdose in the first three paragraphs.

Ian sprints the mile to the hospital in record time. He charges into the ICU panting and sweating and is directed to Mickey’s bed. He swallows a huge lump when he sees him lying there, hooked up to a ventilator. He sits in a daze, still blindsided by the news and trying to wrap his head around the fact that Mickey’s a secret junkie and he’d never known. He’d been worried about him lately sure, but he never would have guessed it was because of this. Heroin addicts are homeless and dirty and crazy in Ian’s mind, not someone like Mickey.

A doctor comes to see him soon and grills him about what drugs Mickey takes and how long he’s been an addict, and Ian feels completely useless and pathetic. He doesn’t know. He wasn’t even aware that he was still taking pain meds, let alone addicted to them. Then he has a horrible sense of déjà vu as he’s told about Mickey’s condition. Just like a year ago, they have to monitor him for rhabdomyolysis because he was found slumped over on himself and has muscle damage as a result. They’re using the ventilator to re-oxygenate him as fast as possible, but he seems to be stabilizing and they’re optimistic they’ll be able to take him off it soon. The biggest concern is brain damage. He was found near death with extremely slow breathing and a weak pulse, which may have fucked his brain from hypoxia. Their initial neurological examinations were encouraging, but it’s too early to be sure. Luckily, the cold may have saved him. Hypothermia slows damage and he wasn’t even wearing a coat on a zero degree night. Ian sits there holding his hand, scared as shit, just the way he did last year.

He does stabilize though, thank God, and further neurological tests look good. Once he’s taken off the ventilator and his breathing and vitals are monitored for another hour or two, he’s discharged from the ICU and moved to a single room in an intermediate care unit, to await his return to consciousness as the sedatives wear off.

Now that he’s out of immediate danger and somewhere more private, Ian has time to think a bit more rationally, and he slowly grows angry. Initially at himself, for not realizing what was wrong, then for not being more forceful in dealing with him this year – for not insisting he go to counselling or socialize more. But slowly he transfers that anger to Mickey. Ian’s not in charge of his choices, they’re Mickey’s alone. And Ian had been through everything he had too, yet he had tried hard to deal with his feelings and move on instead of drowning it out, even though the process was painful. Mickey had kept all of it hidden instead of letting him help him. He hadn’t even given him a chance to try, and now Ian’s back in the hospital, going through the same trauma all over again, because Mickey’s too stubborn for his own good. That goddamned stupid ‘fucked for life’ philosophy.

He hears him stirring slightly and moves over to the bed to be there when he wakes up. He should be nice. He should be kind, given how fucked up Mickey must be right now, but he’s _really_ pissed. He decides to hold his hand to ameliorate the sting of the attack he’s about to launch when he opens his eyes.

“I swear to God Mickey, I’d knock you into a coma if you hadn’t just come out of one.” 

Mickey looks at him blearily and confused.

“I’m still alive?” he stammers. “I knew I should’ve used a gun.”

Ian’s struck by lightning.

He falls down into his seat as Mickey lapses back into unconsciousness, completely stunned by the revelation that he had done this deliberately. He wasn’t a junkie; he was suicidal. Probably desperately depressed and Ian hadn’t figured that out either.

 _“Fuck_ Mickey,” he whispers as his eyes water and his body starts to shake, even though his mind is still in shock. 

Mickey’s gone. He’s fallen into this wide abyss and Ian can’t catch him. He didn’t even know he’d tripped. Then the ground beneath him gives way and he feels himself slipping through his own crevasse, a wave of nausea striking as the crushing darkness consumes him too. The enormity of it all hits as he looks at Mickey’s limp face and his heart explodes from pain when the scales fall from his eyes, immediately replaced by tears.

He knows he’s only got one eye, but how could he have been so blind?

He wants to hold him. Wrap his arms around and cradle his head and pull him into him. Feel his heart and feel his skin and show him without words that he’s not alone.

And he wants to kiss him. He wants to cup his face and kiss him soft and kiss him hard and kiss him desperately. Inhale all the darkness and launch it into the stratosphere.

And he wants to tell him that he loves him. That he’s _in_ love with him, that he’s fucking head-over-heels in love with him and he has been all this time. That he’s the dumbest motherfucker on this planet that he didn’t realize until now. Didn’t realize until it was too late.

Then he actually does it. He moves his chair right up to the bed and carefully manoeuvres his arms around the wires and oxygen tubes and holds his face in his hands, running his thumbs along his cheeks and pressing his forehead to his. He shudders as a great heaving sob escapes and he pants against his face, lips only two inches away and tears dripping down into his mouth. He inhales shakily through his snotty nose and leans in all the way to kiss him gently but urgently, trying to breathe life into him.

“Don’t go Mick,” he whispers as he pulls back. _“Please_ don’t leave me. We’re meant to be together, I know it.” He sniffles once more. “I love you. Please just come back and I’ll never let you go. Even if you don’t want me, I’ll always be there.” Then he kisses him once more and lets his head go, gazing at his soft, slack face. 

This is the point in the movies where the beeps on the monitors are supposed to speed up, or the eyelids flutter open and he’ll whisper that he loves him too. But nothing happens. There are no signs of recognition, or awareness, or even life. He looks every bit as dead as he wants to be. Ian pecks him on the forehead once more and moves his chair back, but then laughs incredulously as it dawns on him that he’s got a full on, very hard boner. Fucking dicks man, you can’t take them anywhere.

* * *

Mandy arrives a few hours later. He hasn’t seen her in a year; not since they were working together to make Mickey’s apartment liveable again. She doesn’t even see Ian sitting on the plasticy love-seat in the corner, just strides up to Mickey seething, looking like she’s about to punch him.

“Mandy,” he calls out, before she can do any damage. She looks over at him and clenches her fists hard, but turns around.

“I’m so fucking angry with him! You look like shit though,” she says, face softening into a little lopsided smile. He must look as bad as he feels, having cried for hours with his long legs drawn up to his chest protectively.

“Come sit,” he tells her, patting the seat beside him. She does as she’s told and he takes a deep breath, tears threatening to spill over again as he tries to find the words.

“It wasn’t an accident, Mandy.” 

She whips her head around. “What?!”

“He’s come round twice. He told me himself. He was– ” Ian swallows hard. “–He was angry that he hadn’t used a gun.” Then the tears do escape and he tucks his face down into his knees, trying to get it together. He snuffles a few times, and when he looks up Mandy’s got a sad but sweet smile on her face. She _knows,_ he can tell immediately, and he quirks a sort of half smile in acknowledgment.

“At least I know why you wouldn’t fuck me at your prom.” 

It’s a bit of desperately needed humor and Ian chokes out a laugh, even though it dies somewhere in his throat. But there’s still a lot of awful things he has to tell her.

“He told me he doesn’t want help. That he just wants to die. I don’t– I don’t know what to do.” Mandy’s eyes well up at that too and she pulls her knees up like Ian.

“Mickey’s a stubborn motherfucker. The stupidest, stubbornest jackass in the whole world, but if anyone can talk him ‘round it’s you. And if there’s anyone he’d do it for it’s you. I’m sure of it. Don’t take any of his bullshit and don’t chicken out because you’re frightened he’ll hate you. Don’t take no for an answer. You guys are gonna work it out, I know it.”

“He’s an addict too, Mandy. I think the heroin was a one-time thing; I checked his arms for track marks. But he told me he got addicted to the narcotics for his leg pain and– ” He trails off with a big sigh and covers his face with his hands, then draws them down slowly. “ –and I had no idea. Absolutely no fucking clue. I thought I knew him so well, but he had me completely fooled. It feels like I never really knew him at all.”

“You do: there’s a difference between hiding something from you and hiding from you. He’s still the dumb idiot you love, under all that bullshit.” Her words go straight to his heart and nestle there, an independent acknowledgement of everything he’s feeling.

“Thanks,” he whispers. She looks at her watch and sniffles.

“Listen, I have to run. I came as soon as I heard but I didn’t have much time before work. Keep me posted okay? Anything he says or does next time he wakes up. If he’s still being an ass I’ll come knock some sense into him later.” She gives him a squeeze and gets up to leave, but then changes her mind and goes to hold Mickey’s hand.

“Don’t be a dumbass Mickey! Ian’s the best thing that ever happened to you. Don’t pussy out on him now, you douche.” She squeezes his hand and drops a kiss on his forehead then walks out of the room, giving Ian a little wave as she goes.

* * *

Mickey goes to rehab and Ian prays that Mandy will be right about everything else. He knows he’s going to hate the fancy places that his mom’s sending him to, but fuck him. It’s time to do things Ian’s way. 

His first visit, once Mickey’s been through detox and done a few days in the in-patient facility, is a shocking, horrible nightmare. Mickey’s bleary as fuck, looking like drool is going to escape his mouth at any moment and Ian knows immediately that it was a mistake to come this early. He just _really_ hopes that Mickey doesn’t remember it. He comes back a week later and although he doesn’t want to get out of bed, he can at least carry a conversation. He seems to improve pretty rapidly after that, because he starts grumbling and bitching about all the privileged pussies there and Ian finally dares to hope that he’s going to make it.

Outside of his visits though, when he doesn’t have to sound encouraging, Ian’s really struggling. Coming home the first evening after his long day in the hospital was horrific. He barely got the door shut before he collapsed on the floor in tears, then stumbled into Mickey’s room and crawled into his unmade bed, just wanting to feel connected to him. But of course his brain was still whirring and soon he began to wonder what it must have been like for him to close the door to that room, to their apartment, knowing he was never coming back. That he’d never intended to. Suddenly anything to do with Mickey became overwhelming and Ian retreated into his own room as fast as he could and cried himself to sleep there instead.

The last time he’d seen him before it happened runs through his mind over and over and over again. It had been so nondescript. Ian had been busy with classes and working in the library, and they had barely seen each other at all. Mickey had been acting squirrelly for a few days, as had become somewhat normal for him, and Ian had gotten used to it enough to know not to push any buttons when he was like that. That morning he’d asked him some general questions about what he had on that week and Mickey had been agitated and evasive, but Ian hadn’t thought anything of it at all. As he’d been getting his books and stuff together though, Mickey had started to look teary, but then snapped at him when Ian asked if he was okay.

The next day Ian ransacks the house looking for a note, desperate to know what Mickey had been feeling; what he’d wanted him to know once he was gone – but he doesn’t find anything besides a few leftover Oxy tablets that send him into a blind rage, kicking as much shit around as possible and frightening Polly. In the end he comes to the conclusion that there never was one, because Mickey didn’t want him to know that it had been deliberate at all, which is why he’d chosen to do it that way in the first place. That sends Ian into a crying fit instead, knowing that Mickey was trying to protect him from blaming himself. That it was much better for him to have been deceived by an addict.

He ends up checking into a hotel for the next two weeks, just to be able to put some distance between himself and the all too tangible memories in his house, even if he still has to go back there twice a day to look after Polly. He only feels able to start sleeping at home again when Mickey improves a little and he’s finally confident that he will actually be coming back.

All he wants now is to hold him, but he knows Mickey won’t let him fuss. He gets his chance though, after things get off to a _wonderful_ start and they have a fight within minutes of his arriving home. Mickey comes to find him eventually and Ian wraps his arm around him and pulls him in to his side, the first proper contact they’ve had in months. Finally he can breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that Mickey still trusts him – trusts him enough to let him hold him like this at his most vulnerable, and Ian swears he’ll never let him go again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mandy knew, obviously.


	9. Chapter 9

Ian’s continually floored by the force of his feelings now that they’ve all been released, only adding to the pain of the last few weeks. It’s overwhelming, and once Mickey’s home and he no longer has to be strong for him the load becomes crushing. 

He wants him _so much_. 

He loves him _so much_. 

How the fuck do people keep this up?

He knows he can’t go there though. Mickey’s been through so much recently, is _still_ going through so much, declaring his undying love is probably just going to overwhelm him. Ian should probably get some counselling himself, but he feels stuck, just trying to keep it all together enough not to flunk his final semester. He’s learning why there are so many fucking songs about heartbreak.

He’s still reeling from the revelation that he’s probably gay. It would definitely explain a few things. He hasn’t had a girlfriend since before he went to Asia with West Point, going on two years now. He hasn’t missed it either and he hadn’t really been serious about any of them. They never seemed to click on a deeper level somehow and now that he knows what love _really_ feels like, he knows he wasn’t even in the same city, let alone neighborhood with any of them. 

But he’s slept with so many women. He’s _continued_ to sleep with so many women. He’s never really had much trouble getting it up and he comes just fine, although sex has always been far more about the sensations than the visuals for him. He admits that his mental spank bank contains a large proportion of doggy style and anal with rather amorphous looking individuals though. But he’s just not that visual.

Then there was that blow job. He can’t deny that he’s thought about the tongue thing over and over and over again, but that falls under sensation, right? But then again, he’d said Mickey’s name. That’s got to be a pretty big fucking hint from the universe that he’s wanted him this whole time, although it doesn’t necessarily make him gay either. It had still been the most intense, natural feeling sexual experience of his life though. Like something had just lit up in his body, the way it never had with any woman. 

Really, he just wants the whole thing to go away. He’s obviously not straight, but he’s still very confused about basically everything except Mickey. Mickey’s the only thing he’s ever been so sure of in his life.

And he’s horny. So fucking horny now that he knows what he wants, but knows he can’t have it. He considers downloading Grindr, but he’s scared Mickey’ll find him on there and he thinks that experimenting with other men will only make him think about him more, like the last disastrous time. He caves and gets Tinder instead, knowing that he definitely doesn’t have the patience to spend hours talking to someone before bringing them home. He’s sure he’s never going to want anyone else emotionally again, but sex might be another matter. Maybe it’s just a case of doing it the right way? Of finding that intense spark of pleasure that’ll make all this clear? 

So he fucks and he fucks and he fucks, trying to blot it out with the familiar oblivion of mindless orgasms, even though it doesn’t seem to be bringing him much joy. Or satisfaction. Because now he’s having to jerk off twice a day on top of all the sex, to keep his mind and dick under control. And there hasn’t been a woman in his mind’s eye since.

In short, he can’t get him out of his head.

* * *

He’s been going out clubbing with his friends less and less because he just doesn’t have any enthusiasm for anything that isn’t Mickey these days. Apparently he’s always talked about him too much though, because his friends are bugging him the way his mom used to and Ian knows that he’s going to have to produce him eventually, if he doesn’t want those idiots getting robbed in his neighborhood trying to find his house to ‘drop in’. He’s never let anyone besides his family come to their apartment, partly for their own sake.

So Ian lies and pretends he wants to finally get Mickey into a club and it’ll be fun and there’ll be all the booze he can handle and hot guys (which he prays there aren’t), and he knows he’ll actually succeed because Mickey’s been so good about going out and doing things recently, as part of his therapy.

He regrets it though, when he’s reminded just how good he looks in a shirt with his hair slicked back. Ian wants to say fuck the evening and just jump him. Message his friends ‘not coming’ and then start coming somewhere else. But he can’t do that.

He tries not to look at him too much that night, even though he fails miserably when he sees the myriad ways the colored lights bring out his eyes. He drinks too much and finally decides to escape to the dance floor since he knows there’s no way in hell Mickey will follow. That distracts him reasonably well for a while, but the need for nicotine grows and fuck it, he’s still allowed to _talk_ to Mickey. Smoking together has always been their thing.

“How are you doing?” Mickey asks, after they’ve escaped to the back alley and gone through their first cigarette in silence.

“Not too bad. I’ve got a good buzz, but I don’t think you’re gonna have to carry me home.”

“Good, ‘cause your ass is fucking heavy and I probably couldn’t keep your giraffe legs off the ground anyway. But that wasn’t what I was asking. How are you _doing_ doing?”

“Yeah, fine,” Ian smiles.

“Come on Ian, you’re a shit actor. I’ve seen you flagging. The last few months can’t have been easy for you either – you’re allowed to be depressed by it all.”

Ian takes a deep sigh but avoids looking at Mickey. 

“I guess you’re right. And yeah, it has been hard, but I’m so fucking glad to see you getting better, it’s a huge relief. I guess I just have a lot on my mind in general. Finals, graduation, trying to figure my shit out once I’m done with it.”

 _You._

“I still don’t really know what I want to do with my life.”

Mickey wraps his arm around his shoulders and Ian can’t help melting into him.

“How about a parrot circus? Or a gigolo? You get around enough.”

_Mickey always has the best stupid ideas._

“I think my parents might disinherit me if I did either of those.”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing?” Mickey replies and Ian looks at him fondly.

“Thanks Mick, for everything you’ve done for me over the years. I know you feel like it’s all been one way, but trust me, it hasn’t.”

Like love, he realizes.

Then he loses control of himself, desperate to finally know.

He goes for a gentle kiss, not wanting to spook him with too much too soon, even though he wants to devour his entire beautiful face. He can tell Mickey’s real surprised from his stiff body and that the next second is make or break and unfortunately it’s break, as he hears Mickey crash into the dumpster behind him.

_Fuck._

“Ian, what the fuck?!”

“I just– I couldn’t stand it anymore.”

“The fuck are you doing?!”

Ian’s heart is now going a million miles an hour and he desperately hopes that if he could just touch him for a moment, he might be able to explain himself, but Mickey dodges out of his reach, weaving around the dumpster and taking a few more steps back.

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

“Mickey please! Let’s just talk for a minute! I’m sorry!”

“I said don’t fuck with me Ian! I’ve been through enough already. Leave me alone!”

“I’m not– I’m not– ” 

Mickey takes off and Ian tries to run after him, but even with his metal leg he’s zooming away from him in a way he didn’t know he was capable of. Even if he could catch him he knows he’s in full on panic mode now and unlikely to be reasoned with.

_Fuck, fuck, FUCK!_

He’s going to cry.

* * *

  
Ian’s in hell. 

He leaves the club without another word, grabbing an Uber as fast as he can and praying Mickey’ll be home when he gets there. He’s not, and at first he tries to calm himself thinking he probably beat him back if he’d had taken the L. But he doesn’t turn up and his phone doesn’t even ring, so that after two hours Ian’s worn a hole in the carpet, pacing up and down. How could he have been so stupid?! And it’s not like Mickey doesn’t have reason to be confused either, given what he knows of Ian’s previous interactions with men.

By 5am when it’s safe enough, he leaves the house and takes the Green Line over to Ashland and 63rd, then checks every alley from there to 47th and then along it to the Milkovich house, a full three and a half miles. He seriously doubts that he’s hiding in there, but he peeks in all the windows anyway and doesn’t see him, knowing he’d probably get shot if he went inside. He thinks about calling Mandy, but he’s sure if Mickey had gone there she would have told him by now and probably knocked some sense into him.

He starts calling hospitals. He knows he’s number one on Mickey’s list now, but if he’d lost his wallet or something they might not have identified him. So he makes the rounds, seeing if anyone matching his description has been brought in, and he’s not sure if he’s relieved or even more worried to hear that none of them seem to have him.

By 8 a.m. he gets home and he’s exhausted, completely sobered up and head thumping from a hangover that’s only made worse by his anxiety. He finally crawls into bed, terrified about what’s happened, but also knowing that he’s done what he can and if Mickey wants to be found he’ll be found, praying that he only needs some space.

He wakes up five restless hours later, hangover worse than ever and still in his sweaty, dirty clothes from the night before. He checks Mickey’s room once more, hoping against hope that he’s there – which of course he isn’t. He showers, feeds Polly and then calls the hospitals once more. Then he sits on the step chain-smoking and drinking Gatorade, trying to ease his hangover. When he still isn’t back that night and another set of calls to the hospitals provides nothing, he reaches a state of horrible acceptance. If Mickey’s done something terrible he won’t be getting brought to a hospital anymore. And if he’s just out there getting fucked up Ian’s not going to be able to find him.

The next day he calls the Cook County Jail, but hits another dead end. He tries the hospitals once more, just in case, and starts to think about going to the police. Mickey would probably kill him for getting the pigs on his back, but he’s running out of options here and there’s no guarantee he’ll be back to exact revenge anyway. He decides to give it one more day, reading that the police probably won’t do anything until a few of them have passed regardless.

The following day is Monday and Ian skips class, staying home and trying to distract himself with deep cleaning the house in-between checking the jail and the hospital. By the afternoon though, he’s exhausted all his coping strategies and is just working up the courage to call the police when he sees him standing in the door frame, dirty as fuck and still wearing Friday night’s clothes.

Strangely, rather than the rush of emotions that he’d expected, he feels nothing. He’s just so surprised to see him. But then rage floods him and he wants to knock the shit out of him for putting him through that and probably falling off the wagon too. All because of a stupid fucking kiss.

He storms over and pins him up against the wall, demanding to know if he’d relapsed, and he doesn’t get an answer initially, but when he does and it’s a denial he actually believes him because the look on Mickey’s face is one of pure childlike fear. He’s never seen it before, even when he was freaking out in the alley, and it’s enough to replace his rage with relief, as he pulls him into him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The frat boys knew.


	10. Chapter 10

Ian obsesses over that night for weeks trying to make sense of it all.

If he feels this desperate after only a few months, how could Mickey have kept it together for years if he felt the same? He couldn’t. Mickey may love him deeply, he knows he does, but it must be platonically. Ian’s not homophobic enough to believe that gay men are incapable of having friendships without it turning sexual. After all, he had thought he felt the same way for years. It had taken some pretty traumatic shit to get him to realize what was going on in his heart, but if Mickey still didn’t want him after all that, if he’d been so freaked out by one simple kiss and the prospect of their relationship changing that he’d run for the hills, then it was clear Ian had made a terrible mistake. He’d nearly lost him for a third time and pushed him back to the brink. 

Never again. 

Never, ever again.

* * *

Mickey finally suggests going for dinner somewhere after things between them have got unbearably weird, and Ian’s just relieved he hasn’t thrown him out of the house or moved to California to get away from him. It’s a start.

However, things don’t quite go as planned. 

Ian’s terrible filter becomes completely non-functional with alcohol, so a ‘nightcap’ after wine with dinner was definitely _not_ the smartest idea he’s ever had. But he’d just wanted to relax things between them somewhere neutral, instead of them slinking off to their respective rooms once they got home. So Ian drags him to a dive bar and they have their drink, but then he challenges him to a game of darts and Mickey gets another. And then Ian gets another because he figures they’re staying a bit longer. Then Mickey’s having enough fun that he buys them both a round and Ian’s just so fucking happy to see him with his guard down again that he drinks it so fast the alcohol doesn’t hit him until ten minutes later. Then it _really_ hits and Mickey’s had another and a shot in the mean time. 

Home time. 

After Mickey’s had one more shot.

Ian feels like he basically knows everything about Mickey by now, but occasionally something pops up and surprises him. They’re weaving their way home unsteadily and pass a house with a thumping party going on, blasting out _Love is a Battlefield_ , when Mickey suddenly bursts into song. Ian doesn’t think he’s _ever_ heard him sing (and he definitely can’t carry a tune), but what’s even weirder is that he somehow knows all the lyrics to a Pat Benatar song. He knows he’s gay and all, but wow, he didn’t realize that level of camp was somehow embedded in his DNA. Ian probably should have recognized the gay within earlier though, because he too knows all the words and joins him in drunken disharmony. Mickey even jumps on his back at one point and smacks his ass like a horse and Ian gets a boner, which he hopes will pass unnoticed.

When they get home the lights are out. Mickey goes stumbling around looking for a lamp while Ian feels through the fuse box – but soon he hears a great crashing, followed by a roar of anger and he knows exactly what’s happened. He flips the circuit breaker and goes to tease him.

“Mickey! It’s your party trick!” he says, laughing at his prone body.

“Shut up bitch.”

He figures he should let him have his dignity back and goes to help him up, but the next second he’s down on the ground, pinned at the shoulders by Mickey’s firm hands. He really should have seen that coming, but Ian’s always been a moron when he’s drunk.

“Still got it.”

“Yeah, you always owned my ass.”

“You wish Gallagher.”

“I kind of do.”

There goes that filter.

 _Rein it in, rein it in! You promised_.

“Don’t start that shit Ian. You’re straight.”

“I’m not, Mickey.”

“Yes you are!”

“I’m not.”

“You _are!”_ Mickey growls, starting to get heated.

You know what? Ian’s getting real fucking tired of Mickey dictating who he is. He may not want him, but he doesn’t get to gaslight him about what he’s feeling, especially when it had taken him so long to figure it out in the first place.

“No I’m not! I’m _not!_ I’ve known for a while now,” Ian shoots back.

“What happened to a mouth’s not a mouth?”

“I wasn’t ready. I freaked the fuck out, okay? I liked it too much and too little at the same time. And he wasn’t the right guy.” 

_Like I fucking said your name out loud._

“Don’t do this. Don’t do this, all right? I’ve got everything to lose here. I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

“I’ve already ruined it Mickey! I’ve already ruined it! I can’t put the genie back in the bottle, I’m sorry,” Ian sighs.

“I’m not some lab project for you to experiment with.”

“For fuck’s sake can you feel this?!” Ian snarls, grabbing Mickey’s right wrist roughly and pushing his hand into his crotch so that he can feel the unambiguous erection through his jeans. “Hmmm?” Then he yanks Mickey’s arm even further across his body, so that they’re forced together nearly chest to chest. He lets it go and moves his hand up to Mickey’s jaw, bringing their lips together and kissing him slowly but deeply. 

“Can you feel this?” he whispers, pulling back so that their foreheads are pressed together. 

“Yeah,” Mickey finally chokes out. 

“So don’t tell me what I do and don’t want.”

Mickey starts to react and thank fuck it’s to wrap his arms around him rather than run. Ian completely loses it after that and pulls Mickey’s mouth back to his, gripping him by the neck and grinding himself against him. He can tell that Mickey wants him too and Ian no longer wishes to waste time on the floor, when he could rip his clothes off in his bed instead.

He reluctantly rolls away and pulls him upright, only for Mickey to hop around trying to free his leg from the stool it got caught on. More time wasting, and more to the point it’s not the most romantic way to make your way to someone’s room, so he goes for broke and pulls off the heroic prince move and sweeps his kangaroo off his feet.

He’s imagined this for a while, but now that it’s actually fucking happening he can’t deny that he’s nervous. It’s definitely not his first time at the anal rodeo, but Mickey’s _extremely_ experienced and Ian’s worried that there are some magical moves that only gay guys know, like the dude who gave him the blow job, and he’ll just be an awful fuck by comparison. Still, at least they are actually going to do it, and he’d rather be terrible than not have it at all. With any luck it’ll happen again and Ian will be the most enthusiastic student of all time.

He’s extremely gratified though, when he sees Mickey catch sight of his dick as he kicks his pants off the bed. At least he can impress him one way.

“Jesus, so this is how an ugly motherfucker like you got all the girls?”

“I guess so.” 

Then they’re both naked and Ian’s hornier than ever. Mickey’s always looked good to him and it seems like the rest of him lives up to that too. He’s a wonderful mix of firm and soft: sculpted like alabaster, but pliant in all the right places and Ian can’t wait to get his hands on him and feel every single beautiful inch.

Mickey doesn’t seem to be having quite as ecstatic a reaction to his body though, and Ian can see the fear rising in his eyes.

“Don’t worry princess, I’ll be gentle.” 

It’s a dumb fucking line, but it seems to do the job because the next second he’s getting his wish as Mickey pulls him down and he finally gets to feel his skin on his. Fuck it feels good.

“You’ve got lube, right?” Mickey asks breathlessly, after a minute.

Ian quirks a brow and looks at him a bit disdainfully.

“Of course.”

“I bet you’ve got that water-based pussy shit though. Should use silicone like a real man.”

“You’re not gonna care in a few minutes, Mick.”

He opens the drawer and pulls his bottle out, then squirts some into Mickey’s hand since he’s demanding it. He’d kind of assumed he wanted to jerk off, or maybe prep himself, but when he lies back down he feels Mickey grasp _both_ their cocks and start rubbing them up and down together and that’s another new sensation that Ian would like to experience for the rest of his life please. He drops his head down and starts kissing again, daring to slip his tongue in for the first time, which Mickey seems to like. He’s already feeling really fucking good and maybe Mickey can sense that because he stops and pushes him off soon after, rolling onto all fours in anticipation of the main event.

Ian settles back behind him and squirts some of the gel into his crack, rubbing it up and down with his long fingers.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” Mickey asks.

The answer is maybe, given his uncertainty over how much there is to actually know, but he figures he should probably project confidence here and maybe get Mickey to laugh at the same time.

“Oh what, you think I’ve never fucked a girl in the ass? Your hole isn’t special because you’re gay Mickey. After all a ho-” Mickey cuts him off. 

“If you say a hole is a hole I will hop the fuck out of here Ian.” 

Ian chuckles and he can’t resist finally dropping a kiss down onto one of Mickey’s incredible asscheeks.

He sticks a finger in slowly and so far so familiar, but then it grazes against a patch of wall that feels distinctly different and Mickey reacts, so he retreats, worried that he’s already fucked this up.

“Did that hurt? Sorry.”

“Absolutely not.”

Ian puts his finger back in and pokes at the spot again.

“What it that? It feels different.”

“Prostate,” Mickey grunts.

“Oooh, so that’s what it feels like. I thought it would be a big lump or something.”

“If it feels like a big lump you’ve got cancer.”

He’s certainly never stuck his fingers up his own ass, so he’s curious about it, tracing around the margins and trying to visualize what it looks like. But then Mickey gets mad at him for losing focus. He redirects his attention to making him actually feel good, but Mickey suddenly demands that he start pounding him and Ian’s nervous again. He knows he’s hung and he doesn’t see how suddenly sticking nine inches in is going to end well after only a minute of two fingers. 

Still, Mickey is adamant and insults him enough that Ian’s concerned mood morphs to competitive instead and he decides to give him _exactly_ what he wants. He drives the whole thing in, right to the hilt in one go and grows cocky, seeing Mickey tip his head back. It feels great being deep inside him, muscles gripping him tightly, all the more so because it’s such an intimate act – even though they’re probably in the most impersonal position possible with only their hips connected, doggy style. He starts up slowly, just savoring the feel of doing this again, especially with someone he loves so much. 

Ian’s always loved anal, although it hasn’t been on the menu very often, usually limited to girlfriends who’ve been with him long enough to trust him. Somehow it feels even better with a man, with bigger hips to grip and Mickey’s awesome ass to pound against, and that, combined with his pure joy over the situation, means that his staying power is highly questionable. Luckily Mickey appears to be falling apart just as rapidly, dropping down onto his elbows and tilting his hips up at an angle that makes his ass seem even hotter and Ian has to look away from the sight of his cock thrusting in and out of his asshole or else he’s going to blow his load immediately. 

So much for not being very visual. 

Then Mickey moans and it’s both a gigantic confidence booster and the single hottest thing Ian’s ever heard, and he sighs out in pleasure involuntarily.

“Put your hand– ”

“Put– ” But Ian’s already tightened it around Mickey's slicked-up dick, pumping it in time with his thrusts.

“Come on Mickey, I know what a reach-around is.”

He feels Mickey leaking, which gives him another confidence boost and slides his wrist around further, so that he can run his fingers over his frenulum, which even Ian knows has to feel pretty good. Sure enough, he doesn’t have to keep it up long before he hears Mickey exhale and then come all over his hand in what is another first for him.

_Bingo._

He decides to go for a victory lap and get himself under control, so he takes his time reaching for the tissues and cleaning up his hand and bed and then nudges Mickey upright onto his hands to continue. 

Now that he doesn’t have to worry about getting him off Ian decides he wants something a little more intimate, and he leans forward all the way so he can press himself against his back and really feel his skin all over him. He starts up again but it’s clear that his little break has not actually reduced his arousal and it doesn’t take long for his hard thrusting to take him over the edge, panting into the crook of Mickey’s neck. It feels awesome, but what’s even more awesome is letting himself relax on top of him, back taking Ian’s bodyweight. He wants to just stay there and fall asleep, but it’s not really fair on Mickey, who’s also just had an orgasm and isn’t exactly steady on his feet, so he nuzzles his nose into his neck and plants a gentle kiss there, then rolls off.

They move onto their sides facing each other and he knows there’s no way he’ll be able to resist snuggling with him after all that, so he hopes for the best and drags Mickey towards him, which he thankfully doesn’t fight. He even lets him pull him right into him so that his hair is in his nose and– wow. As if he wasn’t already reeling from everything that’s happened and his skinful of alcohol, being close up and personal with Mickey’s real scent is fucking amazing. He smells incredible, like everything else about him, and Ian’s biology class about [major histocompatibility complex mate choice](https://ndsmcobserver.com/2010/04/what-can-body-odor-tells-us-about-sexual-attraction-and-sexual-orientation/) comes rushing back, in a very clear demonstration of the phenomenon. He wants to just inhale him deeply for an hour, but he’s sure that’s about three orders of magnitude too creepy for Mickey to tolerate. He settles for something a bit subtler.

“You smell really good. I never realized before just how much I like your scent.”

Then they both yawn. He knows he’s probably pushing his luck here, given all that he’s already gotten away with, but he figures it’s worth a try anyway.

“I’m getting real sleepy here Mick. Will you stay? I’ll spoon you like a girl if you want.”

And miraculously Mickey just nods, perhaps too sleepy to resist.

Ian pulls the now gaping condom off his dick and pulls the covers back, so that they can slide in. Then he rolls Mickey over, pulling him in tight to his belly – another item added to the ‘things he wants to do every fucking day from now on’ list. Mickey’s a little stiff in his arms though, so he tries to reassure him.

“It’s just us Mickey, okay?” he whispers. “Just us figuring our shit out. No-one has to know.” 

“Just us,” he soothes, interlacing his fingers with Mickey’s left hand and kissing his hair. He feels him relax and then seems to pass out almost immediately, so Ian finally has time to take stock.

He’s just had sex with a man for the first time in his life, but more importantly he’s just had sex with _Mickey fucking Milkovich_ and it felt so, so right. Like it’s what’s been missing his entire life and he’s finally been made whole. He knows he’s never going to be able to come back from this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The house party guests knew. Fuck it, even Pat Benatar knew.


	11. Chapter 11

Ian’s super relieved that things don’t get weird between them after their fucking awesome night together, but he doesn’t push Mickey into any kind of conversation, knowing he’s still feeling a little jumpy. He does wonder how he’ll initiate something again, but decides to put it on the back burner until he’s sure Mickey’s comfortable around him again. 

Anyway, Ian’s craving a beer to go with his rambling thoughts, so he opens up the fridge and offers one to Mickey, but the next thing he knows he’s pinned up against the door by a hard kiss and his heart slips out of his chest.

Mickey does want him. He wants him when he’s sober.

His legs turn to jello underneath him and he moves Mickey backwards so that he can support himself on the island counter in case they give out completely.

_Fuck this feels so good._

Then they’re on the move again and trip backwards, landing against the wall.

 _“Fuck_ Mickey,” he whispers into his mouth.

Ian’s about ready to come in his pants like a thirteen year old, so he forces himself away and tries to tug him towards his bedroom but Mickey resists and pulls him in the opposite direction instead.

When they get inside Mickey pushes him down onto the bed and Ian knows then what he wants to do. He’s _maybe_ been practicing on cucumbers, but he’s definitely never given a blow job before and he’s nervous, but the whole thing is going so well he pulls Mickey in before he has a chance to change his mind. He’s taking a bit of a risk here, not knowing how careful Mickey’s been lately, although he knows he got a clean bill of health after the dirty needle incident. He didn’t object to him using a condom last time though, so he supposes that’s a good sign.

He does his best and it seems to be working because Mickey’s making some pretty happy noises and messing up his hair, so he tries out that tongue thing and he _definitely_ gets it right because the next second Mickey’s pulled out and pushed him back on the bed.

Ian gropes for his belt buckle, as he scrabbles backwards and pulls his pants down as fast as he can. Then he starts to worry about his own staying power as Mickey climbs on him and he finally gets the chance to run his hands all over his soft skin.

“Lube?” Ian asks and Mickey throws over a bottle and a condom, so he supposes that bodes well for the whole STD thing too. Mickey rolls over and Ian’s throbbing cock gets a reprieve from the stimulation as he slicks up his fingers and plunges two into Mickey. The silicone’s silkier consistency is a definite improvement and he can even feel Mickey’s ass pulling his digits in so that’s a good sign too. Mickey’d complained about him being too gentle last time, so he thrusts them in and out with more force, then goes for broke and sticks a third one in.

“Get. On. Me. _Now.”_

_Success._

It had felt pretty good when he’d fucked him with his body further over Mickey’s center of gravity and he likes the idea of being able to drop more kisses onto his neck, so he leans over him this time and guides himself in. Then he thrusts against him a little harder than before, since Mickey seems to particularly enjoy pounding, but after a few minutes Mickey suddenly slides forwards and away from him and Ian begins to worry that he’s fucked up.

“Are you not liking this? Does it hurt? Am I doing something wrong?” 

“Definitely not doing something wrong,”

Ian’s uncertainty only increases though, when Mickey rummages around in his drawer and pulls out a little 1oz bottle, which he passes over to him once he’s opened it. It's called 'Buzz' and is wrapped in a sleeve of black and red plastic packaging.

“Why do you want a five-hour energy shot right now?” he asks curiously and Mickey bursts out laughing, making Ian even more confused than before. 

“You ain’t as fluent in gay as you think you are, tough guy,” he finally squeezes out between snorts. “It’s poppers. You inhale it; don’t drink it, it’ll fuck you up. It gives you a rush and relaxes your muscles. Here,” he gestures and takes bottle back, bringing it up to his nose. He breathes deeply several times and then passes it over. 

Ian’s still sceptical but he pinches one nostril and inhales through the other, resulting in an instant rush. His whole body fills with delicious warmth and he feels like melting into the mattress, but most of all he just wants Mickey more than ever, all the emotions in his chest blooming.

“Holy– Holy shit Mickey!” he blurts out, immediately taking another sniff. 

“Good huh?” 

Ian needs to get inside him again as soon as possible and he wants to do it the way he’s been craving, but was afraid Mickey would find too intimate. Now he figures that if his high is even a fraction as good as his he won’t care.

He drags him towards him and flips him onto his back, throwing his legs over his shoulders to get Mickey’s ass at a high angle and stuffs himself back into him. Then he leans forward all the way, bracing his weight on his forearms and looping Mickey’s legs over his elbows instead. Mickey pulls his head down towards his to kiss and that only drives Ian wilder, thrilled that Mickey wants this so much too; that they’re fucking face-to-face and he’s kissing him like he loves him. Ian presses his lips down harder, then sticks his tongue into Mickey’s mouth and he hears him groan beneath him. He can tell he’s getting close because he wraps his arms around his body tightly and Ian thrusts harder to push him over the edge.

Ian’s high – higher than he’s ever been in his life and it’s not just the poppers. Endorphins blaze through him, his heart soars and his body is on fire: a meteor streaking towards its destination, delirious with love and desire. He feels Mickey shudder beneath him, then pulse as he spills all over his abdomen. Their kiss is broken, so he tucks his head into Mickey’s neck and breathes in his heady musk instead, as he too falls apart. He sees stars as waves and waves of electricity pulse up and down his body when he comes. 

And then it slips out. 

“I love you Mickey. Fuck I love you.”

There’s that blurting again, but in this moment he doesn’t care. All he knows is that it’s true and right, and if he’d let him, he’d repeat it every day for the rest of his life.

Every action has an equal and opposite reaction though, and no sooner does the lightning quell in his veins than the oblivion of sleep replace it.

“That was the best orgasm of my life.”

And then he’s gone.

He wakes probably just a few minutes later, still immensely heavy with sleep. Mickey’s gone, but he can hear him moving around in the bathroom. He looks down and sees cum all over his belly and a condom that’s trying to make a run for it. He grabs some tissues to clean himself up, then pulls the condom off, knots it, and wraps it in another tissue, tossing it off the bed. He doubts Mickey’ll mind, as he’s not much of a neat freak. He’s still exhausted though, so he pulls back the covers and slides under, comfort overwhelming him and drifting off once more. 

He’s woken again a few minutes later by the bed sagging as Mickey crawls in, and warmth flows through him, knowing he’s not going to be left alone. He pulls Mickey to him and snuggles up, tucking his nose into his neck and giving in to sleep again, happier than ever.

When he finally wakes up, feeling fresh and alert, he takes a few minutes to just enjoy where he is, nuzzled up against Mickey, who’s got his arms wrapped around him. He glows with happiness and slowly realizes that this is probably the best he’s ever felt. He’s lying in bed, in the arms of the man he loves, after the most mind-blowing sex of his life. He finally believes that they’re going to make it. That Mickey loves him too.

His neck _is_ pretty uncomfortable though and one of Mickey’s arms is taking a lot of his weight, so he reluctantly decides to slide out of his grasp. He does so quietly and slowly, not wanting to wake Mickey, who rolls over onto his side to face him, but doesn’t regain consciousness. They’re close in this position and Ian just sits there and stares and stares and stares at his limp face and feels his hot breath, not too dissimilar to how he saw him in the hospital, but under completely different circumstances. It’s hard to believe only a few months have passed since that terrible day.

Mickey finally wakes up about 10 minutes later and calls him a creep for watching him, but Ian just smiles dopily. Mickey takes a few swigs of water, but lays back down again and Ian can’t resist just tracing his fingers over his skin, stroking in a way that he’s 99% sure he loves.

“What’s on your mind?” he asks.

Mickey looks a little pensive and resistant, but comes out with it anyway.

“It’s so weird your being gay now.”

Ian shrugs. “Some people take longer to work it out. I thought it was normal that I’d never clicked with anyone before; guys my age aren’t supposed to want to settle down. And I figured I was curious because I was open minded.”

Mickey looks unconvinced so Ian lifts his chin towards him and forces him to look him in the eyes.

“Look, maybe nine times out of ten it’s been women, but now you’re the one Mickey, okay?”

He’s pretty proud of himself for coming out with that line, and he knows Mickey loves it too because he calls him ‘Gallagher’, the way he always does when he’s trying to pretend something hasn’t got to him. He decides to ease the guy’s rapidly developing blush by leaning in and kissing him, and when he finally pulls back he knows from the look on Mickey’s face that he’s not trying to hide it anymore.

“Don’t forget,” he whispers. “It’s just us.”

“Now how about those beers?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beer bottles knew. Ian’s cucumbers knew too.


	12. Chapter 12

Lip’s birthday is a total clusterfuck. The dinner is fine, but when they move on to a bar his psycho ex-girlfriend turns up and starts screaming hysterically and trying to swat him with her purse. Then Debbie gets up and begins pulling hair and scratching and soon glasses are smashing and their whole group gets turfed out. The ex continues her tirade outside, as everyone desperately tries to hail cabs, and Ian decides he’s had enough drama for one night and chooses to head home. 

Things are at a delicate stage with Mickey. Definitely sexual, but he can also feel the panic churning under the surface, and he knows there’s still a chance he’ll bolt if Ian comes on too strong. And he definitely came on too strong last time. It’s only been a few days since they last fucked, but despite their intimacy at the time, Mickey’s retreated back into his shell like a tortoise, avoiding being home in the evenings. Tonight however, he thinks Ian’ll be out with his family, so he figures there’s a pretty good chance he’ll be home. Maybe a little gentle talking will clarify where they stand.

When he opens the door however, he finds Mickey’s out again. Kind of a disappointment, but oh well. Polly’s looking restless in his cage, so he pulls him out and lets him flap around a bit then gives him some snacks, unsure if Mickey fed him earlier. After about fifteen minutes though, he hears a key in the door and thinks they might get to talk after all, especially if Mickey’s had something to drink.

The door swings open and there he is but– 

_Oh._

There’s a tall, _very_ handsome man behind him and it’s pretty fucking obvious what’s going on. Ian is struck dumb, unable to say a word or move his damn feet and Mickey’s the same, both of them staring at each other in disbelief. The guy forces his way past Mickey and says something about a parrot, which finally allows Ian to bolt, throwing Polly down on the counter and lunging for the door. 

He runs a full block before he gets it together enough to see if he’s actually got any shit in his pockets. If not he might have to walk the whole ten miles up to his mom’s. Thankfully his wallet and keys are still in there, if not his phone, and he takes a few deep breaths as he considers what to do.

_Fucking hell Mickey._

He wants to cry. Definitely wants to cry and he’s not sure he wants to do it in front of his mom, or have to explain to her what’s happened. It’s late enough now that he needs to keep his wits about him in their neighborhood and being a snotty mess probably isn’t going to exude confidence, so he decides to head towards the university where the campus is a safer place to fall apart.

By the time he gets there he’s cooled down some though, and he visits one of the campus stores to buy some cigarettes and then goes to a café to get a cup of coffee. Next he heads to one of the quads and lies down on the grass, blowing smoke into the clear night. 

He’s hurt, really fucking hurt, but part of him has to acknowledge that Mickey’s not being entirely unreasonable. They’re not in a relationship. They’ve never even talked about it. It’s hard to remember sometimes, because there’s so much history between them and they’re so close in many ways, but Mickey’s never promised to love him in any way other than how he has before. His fear about their relationship changing was extreme, and Ian had kind of pushed him into their first encounter. Plus pledging his undying love the last time has probably freaked him out, if he’s not feeling what Ian’s feeling. He wants to believe that he does and he’s so sure he can see it in his eyes sometimes, but the last year has proven that what Ian thinks Mickey’s feeling and what he’s _actually_ feeling can be quite different.

He considers heading back to Lincoln Park one more time, but decides to bite the bullet and go home instead. Things are probably going to be awkward as fuck and he doubts he’ll be able to get Mickey to talk to him until tomorrow at the earliest, but he thinks they’ll be able to hash it out. He just prays that Mickey’s not done another runner, because he doesn’t think he can go through that again.

He drinks his coffee and smokes another cigarette on the way home, then steels himself to open the door. He wasn’t expecting anyone to be in the living room, so he’s shocked when he sees that prick still in his house in his boxers, chasing Polly around the room.

_Fuck, they actually slept together. All of that happened and he still fucked him. He doesn’t love you; you’ve totally misread him. Again._

Ian clenches his fists and considers grabbing one of the knives from the block and going full Norman Bates on his unwelcome houseguest, but he doesn’t want to deal with a body, even if Mickey probably knows how to get rid of one. The fuck’s still chasing his parrot though and he doesn’t know where Mickey is and all he wants is for the whole situation to die, so he takes a deep breath and decides to rescue Polly, even if it means distracting this guy for long enough that Ian can put him in his cage and get the fuck out. The man is a halfwit, but he really just wants to play with a cool bird, like he did when he was a kid.

“Hey! Stop chasing Polly!” The parrot bolts towards him gratefully, scrambling up his arm and squawking ‘fuck off’ as he goes. 

“Okay look. Polly doesn’t know you. You’ve got to introduce yourself with a treat to build trust.” He puts the parrot down on the kitchen island and opens the fridge, taking out a Tupperware box filled with pre-chopped carrot sticks and passes them to him. 

“Here, offer one of these, but keep your fingers back so you don’t get bit. Then put your hand out in front like a perch and it might hop on.”

_Jesus Christ, how did it end up like this? Every time I think this evening’s reached peak disaster it just keeps getting worse._

Ian looks around to see where he left his phone before he stormed out of the house the first time, and that’s when he sees him. Mickey naked, holding the used condom in his hand. Words don’t even come to mind; he just feels his heart crush inside him. He’d already figured out what had happened, but this graphic visual is just too much.

Mickey starts running around fetching clothes and throwing the guy out in the street, while Ian just stands there in a daze.

“That means go, goodbye, thank you. Holy fuck!” Mickey says, slamming the door in the guys face.

“Ian I’m so sorry! I’m really, really sorry! Can we _please_ talk about this?!”

“What the fuck is there to talk about Mickey?” Ian snarls. But then he remembers everything he thought about earlier and his head falls.

“It’s not that big a deal anyway,” he mumbles. “We’re not officially together, or dating or anything; it’s not like you’re really cheating on me.

“It just hurts is all.”

_It hurts a whole fucking lot._

“Not a big deal?! Are you listening to yourself?! Of course it’s a big fucking deal!”

But Ian just ignores him and moves over to the door to leave, then realizes that that idiot is probably still out there getting his clothes on, so he looks through the peephole to check.

_Yep._

“Listen, I’m gonna go home okay – I should’ve just done that in the first place, instead of coming back here.”

“You are home! This is your home! Here, with me!” Mickey cries desperately, but Ian just sighs and fishes around in his pockets to make sure his things are still in there.

“It doesn’t feel like that anymore Mick,” he says sadly, looking through the peephole again and, finding the coast clear, sticks his hand on the knob and turns it.

“I need some space Mickey, okay? I did the same for you.” Then he pulls the door open and steps over the threshold, and that’s when he hears it.

“Ian I love you. I have since I was seventeen years old, okay? Seventeen!”

It stops Ian from closing the door behind him, but he doesn’t look back. It’s what he’s been dying to hear but … he just can’t believe it, given everything that’s happened.

“Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear Mickey.”

“It’s true!” he continues desperately.

“You were _kind_ to me. You were the first person in my whole fucking life who looked at me like I wasn’t a huge piece of shit. Who did all that without wanting anything back. Gave me what I didn’t deserve, like you just did with that dipshit.” His voice breaks.

“How could I not love you? 

“But you were straight and our friendship was the only thing I had, so why would I risk it? How could I even let myself _feel_ that when it meant a lifetime of pining like a little bitch for something I wasn’t gonna get?”

Well, it’s certainly the conversation he’s been wanting to have. But it’s still too little too late. He knows Mickey’s prone to stupid behavior when he’s frightened, but this is just too much, if he’s even being honest at all. He finally makes up his mind though and turns around, stepping back onto the doormat and closing the door behind him. 

“If that were true, you wouldn’t have done this.”

“I’m terrified Ian, okay? Fucking terrified. The last week has fucked with my head so damn much, I needed to get out of it. I just couldn’t believe that someone as perfect as you could really love someone as broken as me.”

_Mickey._

He finally raises his head and looks him in the eyes aggressively. 

“You’re not broken Mickey. You’re fucking beautiful. I mean it.”

_Jesus, he’s an even bigger idiot than I am if he doesn’t believe a straight up ‘I love you,’ coming from my lips._

“I’m pissed as fuck with you and you’ve shaken my trust, but you gotta listen to what I’m _saying_ Mick, not what you expect or think you deserve. I told you that I love you and I meant it, every word. I love every inch of you, from your head to your metal toes.” 

_And it’s all fucking true, you moron._

“I’m sorry,” Mickey chokes. “Please just give me another chance. I love you too: always have, always will.”

And Ian finally believes him. He smiles at him gently.

“You ready?” he asks softly and Mickey sniffles and nods his head.

“Yeah, I couldn’t pretend anymore even if I wanted to.”

“C’mere,” Ian whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surfer Dude did _not_ know, but he’s an imbecile.


	13. Chapter 13

Mickey brings his lips down hard.

He grasps Ian’s neck tightly with one hand and fists the other into his shirt, pressing him firmly into the door as his legs start to tremble. Ian puts one arm around his waist to support him and drags him closer while Mickey breathes into his mouth between desperate kisses, making Ian weak at the knees too.

“Fuck Ian, I love you _so damn much_. Too much. It was always too much.”

Ian’s heart balloons and threatens to burst, feeling the full force of everything Mickey’s been hiding.

“You’re shaking like a leaf,” he whispers, Mickey’s whole body now quivering uncontrollably.

“Can you blame me?”

Ian wraps himself around him more tightly, because Mickey’s face is even whiter than usual and he’s worried he might actually faint. He half leads, half carries him to his bedroom (because he definitely doesn’t want to go anywhere near where that other prick has been) and lets him collapse onto the bed, while he gently takes his prosthesis off so that he doesn’t wobble around like a flamingo. Then he climbs onto the mattress fully clothed and pulls Mickey into his chest, stroking his hot back until some of the adrenaline has passed.

“Fuck, Ian.”

“I’m going to tease you about this for the rest of your life.”

“Don’t care. Don’t care about anything right now,” he says drunkenly.

“Well I wanna feel your skin.”

Ian moves away and takes off his clothes unceremoniously, then draws the covers back and rolls Mickey in, dragging the sheet up and over them, his body still too warm for the comforter. 

Ian’s a little stunned that he could have caused this reaction.

Eventually Mickey wriggles out of his grasp and flops over onto his back, finally needing some breathing space. Ian can’t resist reaching out and stroking his cheek though, which makes Mickey’s eyes flutter closed again.

“So,” he smiles. “Now that we’re finally on the same page, what do you want to do?”

“Just … _you,”_ Mickey says breathlessly.

“That’s not very specific.”

“Don’t care.”

_Honey badger don’t care._

After another minute he figures it might be safe for a gentle kiss, so he tilts Mickey’s head to the side and presses his lips against his. Thankfully he doesn’t start shaking again, just smiles softly and gazes into his eyes. Then Mickey rolls over to face him and runs a hand around his neck, pulling Ian in for a more substantial embrace. It’s slow though, not fueled by desire and passion but simple love. It’s tender between them for the first time, now that neither has to hold back and they’ve got all the time in the world.

“Did you use to imagine this, back then?” Ian asks, once they’ve broken apart.

“I tried real hard not to, but yeah, I gave in once or twice.”

“I’ve been fucking out of my mind thinking about you so much; I don’t know how you could rein it in for so long. That’s exactly why I was so confused about how you felt.”

“It’s because I actually have a filter Ian, unlike you.”

“Kinda just as well I don’t though, right? Or else we’d probably have grown old _not_ together.”

“Maybe.”

“What else did you use to not imagine?”

“Definitely not sex. Definitely not living together and umm … definitely not marriage.”

Ian smiles sweetly.

“Since we’re embarrassing each other, you gonna tell me what happened with that blow job now?”

“Oh jeez.” Ian brings his hands up and covers his face, then drags them down. “It was fucking humiliating. Do I really have to do this?”

“Yes,” Mickey says flatly.

“Well it started out like I told you: I got pretty turned off by the rough hands and the grunting and I was just about to leave when uh … you remember that tongue thing I did that you liked so much? Well, that’s how I learned it. It blew my mind too, and after that I didn’t really care who was doing it; I was actually pretty turned on that it was a guy.”

“Jesus, you really didn’t get that you were into men after that?”

“I mean, on one level I probably did, but I definitely wasn’t ready to accept it – proof that I do have a filter, by the way,” he says, poking his tongue out at Mickey. 

“And there’s more. Then he stuck his fingers in my ass and I fucking loved it.”

Mickey bursts out laughing.

“Oh my God, could you be any gayer?!”

“I’m a big ol’ mo. But it gets worse.”

“How is that possible?!”

“Well, I finally got the courage to open my eyes and look down and … fuck this is so embarrassing. He had black hair too, and for a split second I thought it was you and I actually said your name out loud. Not like moaning or anything, but fuck. I was just about to blow my load and the guy laughed at me and I ran out of there as fast as I could.”

Mickey’s in hysterics by now and it takes him a minute to get it together, but then he smiles and pulls Ian’s head towards his again and gives him a kiss, thumb resting on his jaw.

“Ian, you can moan my name any time you like.”

Ian puts his arm down and grabs Mickey’s ass, drawing him closer. He kisses him this time, sliding his tongue gently into his mouth and whispers: “How about now?”

“Abso-fuckin-lutely.”

They keep it leisurely, just savoring the feel of their new connection. Kissing slowly, stroking slowly, grinding slowly, every motion slowly. And when things start to progress Ian knows he can finally ask the question he didn’t think he could before now.

“Mick, how careful are you?”

“I don’t get it?”

“Like with condoms? STDs? Since you got out of the hospital?”

“Oh. Well believe it or not I ain’t actually been getting laid on the regular lately, besides you.”

Ian’s shocked by this.

“You seriously haven’t slept with anyone else? Besides that gigantic asshole?”

“Don’t be hard on yourself; you’re only a dick, not an asshole.”

Ian punches him on the arm.

“But yeah, I figured a dry spell would do me good. Well, maybe I was _told_ a dry spell would do me good. Plus anti-psychotics and anti-depressants ain’t exactly aphrodisiacs. And once I’d already gone six weeks in that fancy hellhole you stuck me in it wasn’t that hard, so to speak. You, on the other hand, are a fucking whore.”

“Guilty.”

“So maybe you’re the one who needs to be doing the explaining?”

“It’s pretty simple with girls Mickey – don’t get them pregnant. You don’t have to worry about me.”

They smile slyly at each other before they kiss open mouthed.

“So this means I get to fuck you bare-back, huh?” Ian whispers.

“Guess so.”

Mickey wraps his arms around Ian’s back and slowly slides his hands around so that he shivers a bit. Ian runs some kisses down Mickey’s neck in return.

“You about ready?”

“Yeah.”

But then Mickey groans.

“What?”

“I just realized; the silicone lube’s in my room. And I don’t want to touch that dumpster fire.”

“Nah-ah, I went out and bought some. Threw that water-based pussy shit out too. I’m a real man now,” Ian winks, rolling over to open his drawer.

He drops one more kiss onto Mickey’s’ smiling lips and then grabs a pillow to stuff under his hips, while Mickey plants his foot and stump on the mattress. Then Ian settles back on his haunches between Mickey’s legs under the sheet, slicking up his fingers. He runs two of them over Mickey’s hole, just grazing the entrance, then digs in a little deeper on the second pass. Mickey’s real relaxed and he slides the two of them in easily, but deliberately slowly, making sure to run them over his prostate on the way out and he sees Mickey bite his lip. He goes for a second pass and then pushes them all the way in again the third time, leaving them lodged to the hilt, gently rocking in and out a little.

“If you hadn’t guessed by now, the theme of this one is going to be slow and steady.” 

Mickey chuckles. “That’s what my physiotherapist used to tell me. Feels a lot fucking better though.”

Mickey’s right hand snakes down to his cock and he gently tugs it after Ian gives him a little squirt of lube.

Ian decides to throw a third one in there and that’s a little harder, but he hears Mickey breathe deeply and then relax around him, allowing him to take him in. He really doesn’t need much more prep after that and Mickey whispers: “Get up here man,” reaching his arms out for him.

“Just a sec.”

Ian slicks himself up, lube feeling really good on his bare skin, then lifts Mickey’s hips with one hand, guiding himself in with the other slowly. Once he’s fully seated he leans forward and lays his chest down on top of Mickey’s, feeling him already pulsing around him while he gives him a moment to adjust. 

“God that feels good without a condom,” he mumbles.

“Uh-huh,” Mickey smiles, brushing some loose strands of Ian’s hair back over his head.

“I really wish I had two eyes right now. It must be weird looking into just one.”

Mickey runs his thumbs over two of Ian’s scars tenderly.

“Nah, still perfect.”

Ian starts to roll his hips and the two of them rock back and forth gently, Mickey’s arms around him, enjoying being wrapped together so tightly. It’s still slow. They could contort themselves into a million more interesting positions, but right now all Ian wants is to be close to him. To feel his soft, hot skin and bask in the sight beneath him, Mickey looking vulnerable but not afraid. He marvels for the thousandth time at just how different and _right_ everything seems with him. He brings his head down, presses his forehead gently against Mickey’s and noses at him smirking. 

“Love the shit out of you Mick.”

He switches to kissing along his jaw and neck, then tugging at his earlobe with his teeth, as he arches his back and starts to push in a little deeper, though he keeps it leisurely, wanting to draw it out as long as he can. He notices Mickey’s eyes fluttering shut more often though, knowing it’s starting to feel better and better. It’s not like there’s isn’t heat rising in his own belly either, little sparks of pleasure igniting spot fires, that slowly coalesce into something more substantial. 

Mickey’s breathing starts to get shallower, but Ian knows he can still push it further so he slows down and moves less, focusing on pressing in as deep as he can, helped by Mickey’s legs wrapped tightly around his hips. Then he goes for the opposite effect and slides in and out in long, slow strokes, enjoying feeling him squirm beneath him.

“Feel good?” he teases.

“Oh yeah.”

One of Mickey’s hands starts moving down, as if it’s heading for his dick, so Ian stops completely in protest.

“Nope.”

He takes hold of the offending item and tips it backwards, intertwining their fingers and pinning the arm to the bed by Mickey’s head. Then he trails his other hand down Mickey’s left arm and pulls the other one up too, tracing his fingertips over his palm and running his thumb along the side tenderly. He starts back up again, slowly and deliberately, both of them rocking as before, even though Mickey’s starting to make soft noises. There’s a beautiful red flush creeping up his neck and spilling over his cheeks, something that touches Ian deeply, feeling almost like visual proof of the love flowing through his veins. He drops his mouth down the couple of inches needed to connect with Mickey’s lips and kisses him slowly, feeling his chest expand and then sigh out happily.

He knows both of them are probably on borrowed time though and he has to distract himself a little from what’s now burning within. He lets Mickey’s arms go so that he can wrap them around his back again and grip his neck, bringing him closer. Then he tucks his head down into Mickey’s neck as he does the same and gradually speeds up and thrusts harder. 

Soon their bodies become slick as they both break a sweat, locked together and breathing quicker, Mickey making the kind of needy noises Ian’s sure he’d be too guarded to make around anyone else. He feels him arch his back and Ian slides his arm under, wrapping his hand around his waist to get the best grip he can and keep them sandwiched tightly together, maintaining the friction on his dick. He knows he’s about to come when he feels Mickey’s legs start to tremble around his waist and he pulls his head out of his neck to watch him. He looks absolutely delirious, out of touch with both time and space. Mickey gasps as he comes and arches harder, squeezing his eyes shut and tipping his head back. Then he moans Ian’s name. There’s no way Ian can survive that and he plunges his face back into his neck as Mickey pants into his, legs still trembling. There’s a wildfire in his body and his release is a long one, both of them still clinging to each other and rocking gently, even after their orgasms have dissipated.

“That was the best orgasm of my life,” Mickey whispers into his neck and Ian smiles into his.

“Third time’s the charm.”

Mickey drops his arms and legs and Ian lifts his body higher, so that he can look him in the eyes again. He still looks like he’s seeing stars and the flush has now enveloped his entire chest.

“Who’s moaning whose name now, huh?” Ian teases.

“Never said I wouldn’t.”

Ian drops a final kiss onto his forehead, then slides off and rolls away to get the tissues. He settles on his back and passes some over to Mickey so that they can both clean up his mess on their stomachs. They’re still sweaty, so they lie there for a few minutes, letting the heat dissipate, before rolling onto their sides to gaze at each other, faces just a few inches apart. Mickey looks happier and more blissed out than he's ever seen him and relaxed and peaceful like he was when he slept in the car, before it all went to shit. He’s fucking glowing.

“Happiness looks good on you Mick,” Ian whispers, trailing his fingers through his hair. He starts to scratch his scalp in gentle circles and Mickey’s eyes squeeze shut as he sighs happily.

“That feels so good. No-one’s ever done that to me.”

Ian frowns at that, saddened that Mickey’s never known such a simple gesture of affection. He realizes then that a lot of things they’ve been doing over the past week or so are probably new to him, having never been loved before. 

“You’d better get used to it then. To all of it.” 

Ian’s maybe got a little bit of water shimmering in his eyes and Mickey sees it, drawing him in for one more soft, slow kiss.

“Fuck Mick, can we stay like this forever?” he asks, once they’ve pulled back slightly. “Like, not move. Just fossilize.”

Mickey laughs. “Jesus, you’re _such_ a weirdo.” 

“Yeah,” Ian sighs resignedly and Mickey smiles tenderly, brushing a thumb over his cheek. 

“Always loved that about you.”

They talk a lot after that, well into the night. Ian tells him about how he knew he was in love and that it was him who stole Mickey’s cigarettes. How one little sneaky, impulsive moment had set all this in motion. It’s the best decision he’s ever made, because they probably never would have met had he not.

Then Mickey tells him the heavy stuff. All the stories that make up that iceberg of horror that he’s always kept hidden. Ian has to hold him through it, even though Mickey’s pretty dispassionate about it all. It’s even worse than he’d imagined and he grows pretty homicidal thinking Terry’s still out there, breathing, and just a few miles away, when he should be six feet under or better yet at the bottom of Lake Michigan.

When they’re finally too tired to continue, Ian rolls Mickey over and pulls him in tight, burrowing his nose into his hair. He’s said it before, but he fucking loves the way he smells; more intoxicating than any popper. He’s happier than he’s ever been, feeling their connection restored and Mickey’s walls destroyed, love shining though. More than anything though, he’s just thrilled and overwhelmed that this is only the first night of the rest of their lives. 

Love is fucking amazing.

Soon they’re entering that zone of near sleep, Mickey’s body becoming limp in his arms. But just before he can drop off, Ian whispers something that makes him smile so broadly that he can feel it even with his nose pressed to the back of his head.

“We’re gonna need a smaller apartment.”

Mickey brings their joined hands up to his mouth and kisses them once, then a minute later he feels the heavy breathing that indicates he’s fallen asleep.

Ian’s not far behind, and as he gently succumbs his mind produces visions of pirates and porcupines and honey badgers. But what warms him most of all is the knowledge that Godzilla has been vanquished and that he’s finally, _finally_ got to the heart of the onion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And these two dolts were the last to know.
> 
> As a Christmas present, I have a short but sweet epilogue for you. Since it applies to both POV fics I’m going to publish it as a separate part 3 in this series, rather than tack it on to this. I also couldn’t resist using another song title either, so keep your eyes peeled for ‘[Another Brick In The Wall](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28299363)’ (though the tone is very different to the tune!). Since gifts are exchanged on Christmas Eve in Norway, it’ll be coming to you on the 24th. Happy Holidays!
> 
> P.S. Here’s the Christmas sweater Ian got Mickey that he’s forcing him to wear to all family functions.  
>   
> Ho, Ho, No.


End file.
